


Voiceless

by zvezda



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Mute - Freeform, Possible Suicide Mention, Romance, death mention, dub-con, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-03-13 09:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13567824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zvezda/pseuds/zvezda
Summary: A traumatized and mute Claire moves to a new town with her brother as he starts his new job as a S.T.A.R.S. member under the alluring Captain Albert Wesker.  In self-induced silence, she shoulders the blame for their parents' death in a car crash that forced Chris into a parenting role he was not ready to take.  Hungry for healing and forgiveness and an end to her pain, there's one man who holds her salvation in his hands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wesker's eyes aren't really red in this chapter. It's the lighting, like an omen. She only thinks they look red.

The rain drenched him from head to toe, the box in his hands slippery. At the top of the steps to the apartment, Chris Redfield almost tripped. He only caught himself against the front door. Fumbling to balance the box in one arm, he opened the door with the other.

"Claire? I thought I told you to keep the door open." The same tired resignation from the past few days roughened his tone. The wet box was stacked precariously next to a collection of others. The barren apartment was a canyon of boxes and bagged clothes.

He mopped his brow, soaked with rain. His tall frame was muscular without being bulky, his shaggy hair dark with damp.

"Claire?" He walked through the kitchen to the hallway, past the too-small bathroom. They would have to learn to share it, since this place was all Chris could afford on short notice. A box of toiletries was sitting in the bath tub, waiting to be unpacked.

At least it had a bath tub.

"Come on, Claire..." He stopped at the last door, the back bedroom. The door was wedged open with a suitcase. Claire sat on the bare mattress with her back to him, her red hair pulled into a pony tail. A bouqeuet of rolled up posters leaned in the corner of the room by the sliding-door closet.

"Hey. Didn't you hear me?"

She nodded a little. She seemed to shrink, surrounded by all the trappings of childhood, stuffed in boxes. She'd torn open a box, left some of the things carelessly strewn on the bed, in the search for one item.

Claire looked up, her eyes red and make-up thickly smeared across one cheek bone. The picture frame in her hands rattled with her tremors.

"Hey." Chris swallowed the stone in his throat, clearing it once or twice. He came over, the bed sinking under his weight. He put one arm around his sister awkwardly. "I know. I know."

Claire gave a breathy sound. She gulped and leaned into him a bit, staring down at the photo in the frame. It was a pale pink with 'Family' scrawled along the bottom, with a picture of Claire when she was little, a teenage Chris, and two proud parents - mom and dad, smiling away.

 

* * *

 

"Aikens."

"Here, sir." The young man nodded upward, hands on his hips.

Wesker ticked his name, unreadable eyes behind black sunglasses raised upward again.

"Burton."

"Yep." Family man, big and rock steady, straightened a bit more.

Name ticked.

"Chambers."

"Here!" The punky young girl smiled, her hand popping up immediately.

The team was complete. With the addition of Redfield, there was a well-rounded group. Wesker finished the list, though the newcomer stood out; Redfield had moved in from out of town. Dishonorably discharged from the Air Force after an altercation at a bar, landing the loser in the hospital and Redfield without a job. Other than that smudge upon his record, the hothead possessed all the necessary training required for the job.

"Redfield."

The man swiveled up, almost to the point of whiplash. He was looking at the folder of papers - an introductory packet to take home and study.

Wesker walked over and stood by his desk - it was empty, nothing on it yet, except the microsoft computers issued - bulky machines that computed data and accessed the web.

"I hope we won't expect any problems from you. I understand you were discharged for past behavior. I'm going to tell you this only once - leave it at the door. This is a second and final chance for you."

Chris's jaw worked in silence. He gave a stiff nod. He hated him already. "Sir, whatever you think, this post means everything to me. I'm not going to be that stupid again. Trust me."

"We'll see."

 

* * *

 

Claire looked up, sitting in the passenger's side of the beat up Explorer Chris drove. She stared at the school's gates, the milling teenagers. Unfamiliar clothes and faces.

"So just bring your papers to the office and they'll send you to your class." He sighed a bit. "I'm sorry we didn't get here in time to look at the place first. I'm sure it's gonna be fine."

Claire looked back down at her beat up old Converses, the stained laces knotted tightly, her socked folded down over her ankles because they were too stretched out.

"Hey. C'mon. I'm gonna be late. Listen, you'll fit in fine. It'll be good for you to get back into the normal swing of things, right? Make some new friends." He looked hopeful, like he wanted to believe it himself so much. "Right? Okay. I'm gonna be late, so."

Claire slipped out of the seat, hopping out. The seatbelt buckle smacked against the door frame before she shut it. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes as the wind buffeted her.

Chris gave her a salute before pulling away, the exhaust rattling like a tin can full of pebbles.

She bustled alongside people, her backpack too light without the books she needed. It was harder to breathe surrounded by the crush of so many bodies; she looked up to find signs that would lead her to the main office. Ducking out of the rush of students, she slipped into the office with a gasp.

"Hey, there. Can I help you?" A friendly-faced elderly woman looked up, hanging up her phone just as she entered.

Claire handed her the papers without a word, chewing on her fingernail after. Her weight shifted from foot to foot.

"Oh, okay! The bell's just rung, so, uh, I'll have to walk you to your classroom. It's your first day, right? How do you like Raccoon City so far?"

Claire tried not to sigh. She didn't want to talk. Instead, she managed to shrug and look out the window. She hadn't explored town much. She hadn't really even left her room until Chris badgered her out of bed to get dressed and shower and go to school.

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything, dear." The lady paused. Claire relaxed a little, but now she felt the giult. She was the Weird One. Voiceless with her pain.

"Losing your parents... anyone would be traumatized. If you don't want to talk, you don't have to. If you ever need anything, the staff will help you out. All you have to do is get their attention and ask, okay?"

Claire nodded.

"Okay. We have a school counselor here as well. He's just one door down from mine. He's a star with the other students."

They went back out into the hallway, and Claire followed a few steps behind. Head down, her hair pulled back in a painful, tight pony tail. Her eyes burned and the rest of what the office lady had to say became muffled and unimportant.

Awkward and knock-kneed, she stood in front of the class to be introduced. Eyes downcast. She couldn't look anyone in the eye, afraid they would know. They would shun her.

_I killed my parents._

_It was all my fault._

 

* * *

 

Later that afternoon, she sat in front of her counselor. She didn't look at her, even though she had a kindly, triangular shaped face and gentle eyes. She supposed all counselors were supposed to have this face. This sleepy-eyed expression of openness and understanding.

Mainly, though, she thought her new counselor looked bored of her already.

"So... we'll just take this at your pace. I understand you've moved into town, and things are rough for now. But you should look at this as an opportunity to move forward. To create new memories, okay? There's a lot of places here in town where you can go. Hit up the library if you want. There's a movie theater, too. Just try not to get too wrapped up in what happened... and hold onto what it means to just... be a teenager. Okay?"

Right. Normal. Be normal again. _Not like I killed anyone._

 

* * *

 

She left a note for Chris in her usual blocky handwriting.

_\- Gone out. Made pork chops in oven._

She didn't know how late he'd be coming back, but she knew she wouldn't be gone long. She walked home.

She just wanted to go for a walk down the road a bit, see how far she could get in the dark. She pulled on a thin baby blue hoodie and thumped softly down the porch steps and turned to look back at her dark bedroom window.

They rented this little two bedroom duplex on their father's life insurance - what was left of it anyway - and saved the rest. Chris thought it was the right thing to do. What Dad would have wanted them to do. Except Chris got fired from his last job over something he shouldn't have involved himself in. He broke a man's nose and a couple fingers. He was lucky he wasn't in prison.

That was Chris though - he didn't do things half-way. Even - no, _especially_ \- when it came to saving people who needed help.

She stared at the gaunt little house where she was supposed to graduate from high school. Start making choices. It was her senior year, and she couldn't begin to imagine life beyond graduation. Claire should be dead.

But, like most people, she was a coward.

Walking down the sidewalk heading south toward main street, her eyes focused on the orderly lines sectioning each slab of concrete. She looked up occasionally, examining the other houses, shrouded in an autumn mist as the faded daylight sucked the saturation from the colors - a gray world. She scuffed her foot, kicking a stone ahead.

She stood at the corner for awhile, wondering which way to go - she saw some shops in a plaza on the way to school, but she didn't want to carry all he school books with her. She dropped her bag off at home, and with her wallet and some pocket money, she headed down to the street.

There was a little arcade; some kids stood shoulder to shoulder playing Mortal Kombat.

She wanted to go in. Flashing lights and colors hurt her eyes. She blinked, wanting to go in, but there wasn't anything there for her. She didn't really want that. She wasn't hungry, either - she picked a little at the pork chops she attempted to bake, and that only made her stomach sore. So the pizzeria was out.

Turning, she narrowly bumped straight into the man in front of her. He had just come out of a convenience store, groceries tangled in his fingers' tight grip.

She almost cried out. She shrank back, fists half-clenched, and the usual fire and brimstone that would have fired out of her mouth at the bastard who wasn't looking where he was going merely fizzled out on her tongue, a dead coal.

The man who bumped her raised his hand to the shades over his eyes, the same hand which held onto his car keys. He lowered them and stared at her; his skin was unfathomably pearlescent and caught the glow of the arcade lights. Even his eyes seemed red. And they burned through her.

How they burned!

"Excuse me."

He stepped around her, the click of shoes fading under the sudden volume of the atmosphere. Claire stood with her mouth hung open, dumbfounded.

"Did you see that? She almost knocked that guy on his ass and she didn't even say sorry."

"What a bitch."

She turned to look, seeing a small group of students staring at her. She looked around, as if for someplace to hide. But it was too late.

First impressions are the most important.

Claire ran all the way home and locked the door to her room before Chris got in the drive way.

 

* * *

 

Wesker never forgot a face. They looked so alike, the Redfields. The same round facial structure, the same eyes. The hair must have belonged to her mother, though. From mother to daughter. Like fire.

He turned onto her road with appropriate speed and saw her running up the hill, her pony tail swishing furiously, her arms and legs pumping. She could have been on the track team.

He knew the address by heart; he drove by quickly enough to just be another vehicle on the road, but he saw the frantic way in which she fled. He continued onward, made curious.

Where was all that anger that he saw in Chris? For a moment, he swore she would lash out. But before it came to a head, that quick temper extinguished as if by a tidal wave of an emotion with which he was not familiar.

The similarities ended there. It was jarring.

_Interesting family._

 


	2. Chapter 2

Claire saw Chris each morning that week, going to school, and then some hours after she got home.  The other seniors in her class seemed to welcome her in in the way that people saved a seat for someone who wasn’t there.  They didn’t talk to her, as if her tragedy was a contagion that had to be avoided.  

It made it easier for Claire to keep her silence, scribbling in her black and white marble Composite notebook.  She filled in the margins with jagged zigzags, swirls, leaves growing on vines.

She had always been one that could absorb things while doodling;  she remembered more that way.

On Friday, when her math teacher approached her and rapped on her desk for his attention.  Claire looked up in his unamused eyes and blinked.

He didn’t know her learning method and asked her the question again he had asked the class, aiming to humiliate her for seeming inattentive.

The girl’s throat worked.  It hurt.  The urgency to answer battled with her refusal to speak ever again.

Her face grew hot, as she looked around and then down at her page.  Some of the notes were there.  She knew it.  It sparked in her brain.  The silence was deafening.  No one said a thing.

“Well? No?  All right then. Pay attention, Claire.  You have all weekend to go over your notes and they won’t do you any good if they’re incomplete.”

She exhaled shakily, putting down her pen with a tremble.  Then the faintest whispers from behind her back, with a snicker.

The day ended. She rushed for the doors, cursing as she’d forgotten to get her English book from her locker. Fumbling at the lock, the metal disc spinning,  she didn’t see anyone coming up to her until two girls walked up to her,  smiling.

“Hey.”  

She jumped, smacking her hand on the locker.  She screamed too.

“She’s got a voice after all.”   The young brunette gave her a little ‘praise Jesus’ gesture, her make-up perfect and on point. It was infuriating.  She waited for Claire to speak, when she only stared back.  "Um, I’m Christina?“

"I’m Leslie.”  The second girl held out her hand.  "We just wanted to… y'know, welcome you to Raccoon City High School.  I guess it’s been really hard for you to move, and get used to things, so like-“

"Can you talk?”

“Christina!”

“It’s a fair question!  I mean, you can. Right?”

Leslie pulled on Christina’s backpack with a nervous laugh.  "It doesn’t matter.“

"They have this really good school out of town for special kids, you know.  My dad calls it the retard school but I think it’s just for people who have like, weird shit wrong with them but they’re still smart or something.”

Claire took her English book and notebook and walked away as quickly as possible, hurrying down the steps, yanking the doors open and running.  She didn’t hear them after that; just the blood roaring in her ears.

_Go home, go home, go home._

She reached the plaza, her arms aching at her armpits from the backpack’s straps digging and rubbing into the flesh.

The grocery store was nice and cool.  Sweat pooled at her lower back under her bookbag. She needed to pick up some ham for sandwiches tonight; Chris told her when he dropped her off. Since it was on the way, it would save him the trouble of parking and getting out to do it himself.  

She stood for a long time in front of the deli meats, wondering if Chris wanted honey ham or black forest ham.  She snatched up a package and whipped around, face-planting squarely into a solid surface.  Books and ham both fell on the floor.

She stared up at him with wide eyes, backing up. Oh shit. It’s that guy again. It’s him.

He didn’t have red eyes, nor was he that pale, really. He looked down his nose at her, a shopping basket carrying a few of his things. His eyes were blue, dark and deep as a summer lake.

“Strange way to keep saying hello.”

He stooped and picked up her books, dropped her ham in his basket.  He looked at the notebook with interest.  His eyes scanned over it, tilting his head.  

“Fibonacci.”

She shook her head.  Didn’t understand.

He turned the page toward her.

“A Fibonacci series describes numbers that go in sequence, each number being the sum of the previous two.”

She gaped.

“It also mathematically describes the 'Golden Spiral’ artists use to construct their paintings - what you’ve drawn here.  These petals.  It occurs frequently in nature - the way plants will grow, the sequence of petals, pine cones.  This is quite good.”  

He looked toward her, both brows raised in genuine surprise.  She took her book back, shrugging and trembling. _Just stupid doodles._

She realized he still had her ham, and reached meaningfully to his basket, hooked over his arm.

“No.  I’ll pay.”  He straightened, hand dropping to his side.  "I’m finished here anyway.“

Claire faltered after him, making the slightest scoff of disbelief.  She reached to get another ham,  unnerved by his gesture of kindness.  People weren’t kind.  People were jerks who treated others who were different like creeps.   He was a total stranger.  He wanted to get back at her, maybe. For being such a goddamn klutz both of the times she’d even met him.

And yet she felt his hand close on her arm to stop her.  Her backpack unbalanced and the strap dug into her right shoulder hard.  

"Please.  Let me help. _I insist_.”

The ferocity of his grip startled her. She backed up, and for a long moment he didn’t let go until he was satisfied she wouldn’t try to grab another package.

Awkwardly,  she followed him to the checkout. She stood with her hands at her sides stiffly, her thumb cracking the knuckles of each finger, alleviating stress she couldn’t put to voice.  He handed over cash and bagged all the goods.  She followed him outside, getting odd looks - a teenager with her backpack in a store, and she hadn’t bought anything, looked suspicious.

He ignored her.  She ran after him; she needed her ham.  Or she’d have to go back in and buy one herself anyway, but the good samaritan in her didn’t want to think she’d wasted this man’s money.

For a moment, she thought he had forgotten about her during the time it took to go outside and walk to his car.  

She ran harder to catch up, and almost ran into him again when he stopped just shy of his car door. He drove a nice car. She didn’t even know what kind of car it was.  He turned toward her.

“Claire Redfield, am I right?”

 _Just give me the fucking ham and let me go home_ , she thought.  She nodded again, guarded.

“I know your brother.  You two just moved into town, isn’t that right?  I’m Albert Wesker.  Your brother’s boss, essentially, but - please - don’t let that alarm you. I don’t know what stories Chris has been telling you but I’m not as much of a bastard when I’m off the clock.”

She blanked a bit.  Chris had said something about some Wesker at one point, but honestly she had begun to tune him out. The more she cared about his job, the more devastated she would be if he got fired again.

She realized he was holding out his hand. Tentatively, she reached out.   His hands were both warm and very smooth.  His grip tightened politely;  he shook her hand like one greeted a fellow officer.

“Nice talk.”

Her lips flashed in a grin that was gone instantly, tugged by humor.  She clapped a hand over her mouth, as if it was a federal offense to smile.

She shouldn’t be smiling. She shouldn’t even be happy.

He saw it, and he grinned back at her.  He was achingly handsome all of a sudden. Not menacing, impatient and annoyed.   “Be seeing you, Claire Redfield.”

He gave her the bag with the ham in it, before getting in his car.  Her eyes followed the glossy automobile as it pulled out of the plaza and headed down the street, and turned onto her road.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite this whole damn chapter because it got eaten somehow on my laptop. So if it feels rushed, that's why.

On Saturday, Chris decided to take Claire to the bigger mall. They didn't talk much at home, but sometimes a change of scenery was enough to get them to conversate.

After the accident a few years ago, she'd decided to learn how to use sign language. Chris had given up getting her to talk normally, and so he was forced to try to keep up with the changes - even if it was stressful. Just another thing he had to learn.

"Wanna hit up the arcade? I bet this one has that shooting game you like. You can kick my ass if you want. I suck at that game." Chris grinned at her from across the middle seat, turning the old Explorer on the off-ramp that would take them to the mall.

Claire shrugged, giving him a look that hardly needed translation, as it was a frequent in-joke that Chris ought to be better at the shooting gallery game because of his profession. _Sure. Let's play that one._

The food court had a MacDonald's, a pizza place, a Chinese place and a little ice cream soft serve place too. Claire hadn't been hungry much all week, but the smells and the sight of mountains of salty fries piled under the heating lamps made her stomach twist with urgency.

The siblings sat down together; Claire devoured an entire large order of fries and a twelve piece chicken nuggets. She guzzled her soda until she had the hiccups.

"Ready for battle?" Chris had also pounded away two double bacon cheeseburgers and fries. He cracked his knuckles and pulled a few dollar bills from his wallet.

She grinned a little, signing back at him. _You're on._

Chris remembered when they were little; they used to go to their hometown arcade and play all morning. They'd take their bunches of tickets and buy something awesome at the ticket counter, and keep the souvenirs of every Saturday morning in a box. Chris wondered where that box was sometimes - if it was still in storage with their parents stuff, covered in years of dust, or somewhere in their stacks of belonging in their new place.

They played each other at a few games, but racked up the most tickets at the shooter. The bullet fodder? Dinosaurs. She did a lot better than him; she suspected Chris let her get a better score simply to make her feel better. She didn't like it, but couldn't bring herself to call him out.

"Pick yer prize, sis." Chris waved the bouquet of tickets at the bored looking, pimply-faced teenager who rolled his eyes. Probably judging the two 'adults' for playing in a kid's arcade.

She scoured the selection. Little trinkets that only kids would get some enjoyment out of. She pointed out a necklace hanging up. It was cute, made of little fake gems and shaped like a heart. With enough tickets left over, they ended up getting a bag of chocolate gold coins.

"So," Chris said, peeling off the gold foil on a chocolate coin. "How's the new therapist? Do you like her?"

Claire was fixing the necklace around her neck. It was girly but discreet enough to seem almost like a serious piece of jewelry. She looked up, her eyes flashing with shame and anger.

 _I don't want to talk about that_ , she signed.

"I'm just... asking, y'know. Being a responsible parental figure and whatnot."

She moved her hands, flat with a slicing motion, across her body at the elbow. _Don't talk._ She shook her head hard, shushing him.

Chris chewed his lip, frustrated. "I'm looking out for you, Claire. Like always. Even if I think therapy's a waste of time at this point. I still wish you'd just talk to me." He raked his hand through his short hair, eyes closing tightly. "Talk. To me. Say something, Claire. It's not like this is bringing anyone back."

He saw her face turn a bit darker, her expression worth more words than she could express with her hands. Chris stared back at her, his hands on his hips, too proud to admit he had crossed a line. He craved a sign that things would feel normal soon. That she'd get herself together.

He stared at him a moment longer before she just turned, walking off.

"Claire--!"

She flipped him off. That didn't require much translation.

Chris scoffed. "Be back here at 3, Redfield!"

 

* * *

 

Claire stormed through the mall, not really paying attention to whee she was going. Not that it was a huge mall. The usual culprits appeared, 90's staples of convenience living: K-mart, JC Penney, a piercing bodega in the middle, scene kid stuff.

She heard Chris; she would come back to the food court, but only after she was done exploring. There was just no way she was spending this free time being interrogated and bullied by her brother into being 'normal' to just to make his life easier.

The girl gave herself minutes to calm down. When she was finished being angry, she was riddled with the guilt of having gotten upset at Chris for no reason. He just wanted to help.

He wanted to help her, the girl who got their parents killed. His traitorous sister.

Her eyes burned with tears as she began to linger on the words, let it spin into a core of hot iron that burned at her throat. Her eyes scanned for somewhere to go; she was standing in the middle of the little garden inside and that's when she saw the little hippie store - with candles and incense and so on. She stepped in, the amalgam of perfumed candles and wax triangles dizzying... but in a good way.

She reached to smell some of the soy-based candles - drawing them to her nose, inhaling. She really enjoyed the sandalwood and vanilla. With a bit of spending money in her pocket, she walked over to confirm her purchase with the cashier and took it with her.

Just then, she saw an achingly familiar silhouette. She clutched her bag tighter out of reflex, remembering their last meeting. It was Chris's boss, Albert something? She stared; his head was bent, speaking to someone quietly about something he wanted to buy. It was at a watch kiosk. She watched him take off his watch and carefully lay it out for the older man to inspect. She stared at the place where it used to sit - around his wrist, imagined that the metal was still warm from touching his skin.

When he handed the money over and bid farewell, she approached him, sliding around a family with a stroller. She cleared her throat, stopping just short of him. When he looked at her, she was thrilled to see the pleasant surprise on his face.

"Well. Miss Redfield. Enjoying the town and all its splendors?"

She waggled her hand a bit, the universal gesture for 'so-so'. She gestured again, asking. _Do you understand sign language?_

He nodded, those brows raised again, mildly impressed. "Yes. I believe I can. But if you'd rather speak silently, I can read lips just as well. And body language."

The way he said that made her blood beat harder in her ears. She blinked softly, clearing her throat. She mouthed the words. _Are you buying a watch?_

"Oh. This? no. I'm getting it repaired. You see, this gentleman here is the only place within one hundred miles that actually repairs monologue watches - ones that actually need to be wound once in awhile."

Claire smiled. That's cool, actually.

"Hm." His eyes shone, watching her, before nodding to the small bag from the hippie store. "What's this?"

It's stupid. She looked inside, realizing she probably wasted a good four dollars on just a stupid scented candle. In spite of herself, she reached in and took out the single wick, large wax candle. She sniffed it, handing it over delicately, as if it were alive.

Albert took it, sniffed a bit. His expression warmed a bit. "Oh, my... It's very sweet but warm." He looked over, gently rubbing his thumb into the side of the wax as if determined to leave an imprint there. "Do you like sweet things, Claire?"

She blushed hard. She shook her head no.

"Then what are those for?"

The chocolate coins. She looked down fast, blinking, having forgotten how fast she'd jammed them into her pocket before storming off on Chris. Her brother was probably still fuming.

"Where's your brother? Did he drive you?"

Nod. Shrug. She didn't care. Albert was still worrying a bit at the candle, before he handed it back to her.

"I'm sure he's worried about you." He crossed his arms; his shirt was gray and sleek, and it stretched nicely across his shoulders. His biceps looked formidable, in spite of his leaner frame. "Don't worry. I won't tell him I ran into you if you won't." With that, he flashed a smile that lit up his face from the brooding resting face he usually sported.

Claire grinned back, crossing her heart. Held out her pinkie. He seemed genuinely surprised that she was being so candid.

Pinkie swear, she mouthed. Like a promise?

Finally, he hooked his pinkie with hers and shook awkwardly.

"Interesting." He didn't let go. Instead, he turned her hand over, stepping close to study her nails; her other hand was left holding the candle bag. The tables turned so fast with him; now she was the one who was uncertain. "You've bitten your nails down to nothing, you know that?"

Nervous, she whispered.

"You shouldn't be. And it's a disgusting habit. You'll catch an infection. I suggest you do something less... damaging."

Like what? she thought, scoffing.

"Hard candies. Or gum - though I find that to be a bit vulgar, too."

Claire yanked her hand away; surprisingly he just laughed.

"Maybe you should try hard candies, then. Caramel, perhaps." He studied her. "Or vanilla. Oh. You don't look too happy."

Claire wasn't happy. She was fuming a little. Her day was rotten to start with. Her very life was fucked up at the core. Now Wesker was nit-picking her stupid nails?

"I'm just trying to help you with your little... oral fixation." With that, he got a bit of an idea. He tilted his head. "Come with me. My treat. Could use a little sugar rush myself."

She stared at his back as he turned and left her there, once again, flustered in the wake of all that attention. She turned, half-jogging to catch up before falling into pace beside him. She signed as they walked.

_Where are we going?_

"Candy store." He made his way to the little boutique - colorful displays and old fashioned bins with scoops to get candy, and a scale to weigh them. There was a friendly looking woman in a kitschy little apron, khaki pants and a T-shirt smiling at them.

"Go on."

Wesker stood patiently, his hands behind his back, studying her as if her selection held more weight than she realized. Regardless, she was feeling a bit miserable - and she was guilty of pigging out on sweets when she wasn't feeling like human any more. She saw some candies she had loved before, some hard caramels with soft insides.

"A whole pound, please," Wesker said. He winked at Claire, as if this clandestine candy stop was totally her idea. "To tide you over through the weekend, isn't that correct?"

Now you're going to ruin my teeth, she thought, taking the hefty bag of caramels. Wesker reached in to take on, popping it into his mouth first. They walked a ways further, before he turned toward her. "Open up."

She froze on the spot. He held a tantalizing caramel before her lips between his thumb and forefinger, patient. He stared at her intensely, watching, very still. He had leaned in almost too close; she could feel his body heat just radiate from him. Her mouth opened, not out of obedience but simply because of her slack-jawed awe.

He pressed it to her lips. Her tongue stuck onto it and rolled it back into her mouth, and his thumb lingered overlong on her lower lip, brushing it affectionately.

He said, "There's my good girl." And her ears heard nothing else for a moment. Her face felt hot; her fingertips tingled as they held onto her bag and she thought for damn certain she would have passed out then and there.

Distantly, she heard Chris calling.

"Later then, Claire." And like that, Wesker had gone. Taken off into a crowd toward another store.

"You okay?"

She nodded dumbly. She turned toward Chris and hugged him tight, longing for someone familiar.

* * *

 

When she got home, she was so tired but not so tired she didn't light her candle. She set it on her bedstand, and watched the flame dance. She had put it in a glass mason jar and while it burned, the scented warmth filled her room, seducing her thoughts.

Claire squeezed her eyes shut, and imagined those perfectly manicured nails, the elegant hands, pressing into her arms as if to stain her permenantly with his fingerprints. Pressing into her skin, into her lips, into her mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

Claire Redfield was a fascinating young girl. She possessed a certain kind of discipline to keep her silence; he could only draw the conclusion that it was her parents' deaths that led her to behave this way. That she would never speak again, because her parents could not? Or was there something deeper?

He visited the shop after picking up his watch. Row after row of acrid scents; they almost gave him a headache. But he found the candles, and picked one up. He smelled it. It was gentle, aromatic - infused with vanilla and hints of sandalwood. He sighed in a shiver. Her small hand in his grip left him hungry to feel more.

He thought of Chris with a small sting of annoyance. It was almost... too perfect.

Claire had practically thrown herself into his radar now. Not on purpose at first. Until now. She had approached willingly, conscientiously bringing herself into his sight. As he held onto the candle, he imagined her at home - tonight, perhaps - lighting in her bedroom. Bathed in its fragile glow.

Would she imagine Wesker? Or did any good looking male pass for fantasy fodder in a young girl's mind?

Did she talk to herself when she was alone? Or was her silence absolute?

He would find a way. He could _make_ her speak. He would make her _sing._ He bought the candle before heading out to the parking lot - it was getting late, already quite dark and blue.

He slid the candle onto his dashboard and looked at it a second longer in thought before driving home.

 

* * *

 

"So how was your first week in Raccoon City?"

Claire bounced her knee a bit. Monday had gone by so slowly, it hurt. She had just barely finished her weekend homework late last night, surrounded by a few boxes as yet left unpacked. Boxes she would likely not touch until they moved again. She didn't feel much confidence in her brother's ability... even if it hurt. She wanted to believe.

She longed to believe that there was something good about this move. So far, the only thing she could think of was a pair of beautiful eyes behind sunglasses, a watch wrapped around his wrist. Warm, firm.

 _It was okay_ , she wrote. Then, after a thought, she added, _I went to the mall with Chris._

"Good! That's good. That sounds like fun. I'm glad you had a good time. Do you feel a little bit better about moving, then?"

Claire shrugged. She wasn't exactly thinking this place was all roses and sunshine, either. She couldn't bring herself to open up about the weirdness with Chris's boss. It was bizarre, all right.

No man or boy her own age had ever looked at her like he did. People looked at her, and she knew they saw something wrong with her. Even if she hadn't said a word, the air of tragedy hovered over her like a stench. Like corpses.

She ran her hands through her hair and fixed her pony tail. She was guarded, like always, until her time was up with the lady. She stood up and left her, getting her appointment for the next meeting. She didn't really want to go.

It was a waste of her time.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday was painful. The girl that was with the blonde was following her, trying to talk to her. Claire couldn't help but run from her, hiding in the library for awhile before she dared to come back out for lunch.

Then an entirely new challenger came to talk to her - it was a boy who had been watching her a bit while he was checking out a couple of books. She supposed he had nice dark hair, wore glasses. Nerdy but charming.

"Hi. Um. I'm Tom."

He shouldered his bookbag, watching her.

She waved back, hunched up a little.

"Your name's Claire... r-right? I just.. figured I'd say hi."

An awkward wave from Claire; she didn't want to talk to anyone, but his earnest face made her less wary. She gestured to his books. Mouthed, _what are you reading?_

"Oh. Just some more Dean Koontz. Uh, my dad got my hooked. You read a lot?"

She wiggled her hand, a neutral 'a little' that didn't quantify just how much written word she consumed.

"Oh, well... That's okay. You should join the library club; we basically sit around and talk about random sh-- crap -- and suggest book and stuff. Good ones."

_'Thank you. I have to go to lunch.'_

"Cool. Can I sit with you?"

She wasn't heartless; she couldn't bring herself to tell him no, that she'd rather be alone, and wallow in her bubble of self-hatred. She let him buzz happily about the library club, and the new Koontz book he couldn't wait to get home and read it all night. She humored him by smiling, looking and paying attention, but by the end of the school day she had completely forgotten his name and her homework for the night.

She texted her therapist and told her she wasn't feeling well and wanted to go straight home after school. While walking, she saw a familiar car pulling up to her, and undeniably her heart raced.

"Miss Redfield. On your way home?"

She bobbed her head yes.

"Care for a bite to eat?"

She blinked, staring at him.

"The pizza here is... feasible, but good for a quick bite. My treat?" His window was rolled down, gently tapping the gas to roll into the plaza. Without even waiting for an answer, he accellerated ahead, calling. "I'll be waiting for you."

Claire hurried silently along; she didn't understand why she felt so excited. Told herself it was because pizza was involved. She hadn't asked Chris for it because he was going on a weird health kick lately. It wouldn't last, she knew - but her craving needed to be fulfilled.

When she caught up to him, he was standing outside, one hand in his pocket and the other hanging onto his car keys. His eyes followed her as she walked up to meet with him. He smiled that guileless smile; she was foolish to think it was real.

She signed to him hesitantly. _Do you know sign language?_

"If you're trying to speak to me in sign language, you can give up now. I never bothered to study it." He sighed. "Unfortunately." He opened the door for her, the smile tempered by a bit of impatience.

Claire dropped her hands to the shoulder straps of her bookbag, watching him before she slouched in.

She picked a booth that at least had one empty booth between herself and the rest of the world. She shoved her bookbag on the seat up against the wall and squeezed in as well; she was a willowy teen, though. She felt smaller when he sat right next to her. Boxing her in. The warmth of his presence flooded over her.

"What can I get you guys to drink?"

Claire was struggling to pull out a notebook and find a blank page when Wesker answered:

"We'll each have a coke."

She shot him a look, then looked helplessly at the waiter.

"Two cokes? Is that all right?" he confirmed.

"Yes, please."

"All righty! Here's your menu." A laminated sheet of paper with prices and pizza toppings was neatly placed before them.

Wesker didn't let her see the menu. She had to lean closer, touching him, and it should have bothered her he wasn't pushing her away.

"If you want to have a say in what you want, you'd better write fast." He tugged the menu away, turning it over. "How does pepperoni and sausage sound? Are you a meat-loving kind of girl, Claire?"

Her face reddened. Her ears burned. She slid back against her backpack and pulled out her notebook and pen, scratching an angry, 'NOT FUNNY' on a blank page at the top.

"It was just a question. No need to take offense." Albert raised his brows, defensively. "What do you want, Claire? What do you really want? I promise - I won't ruin it."

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to staunch any forthcoming tears. She wrote on the page, after ten seconds.

I don't want anything. _Soda is fine._

"That's a shame. You look half-starved. Then again, I can imagine school lunch wasn't terribly inspiring for your appetite. I wouldn't know." He tapped the table. "I was home-schooled."

She arched a brow, glad that he started talking about himself - it took the attention away from her, from her vow of silence. He did not say it like he was bragging, though - just simple fact.

_'Wasn't it lonely?'_

"Not in the least. The distraction of peers my own age would have hindered my learning."

At this point, the young man swept back into view with their sodas in cups, with straws on the side.

"Have you guys decided?"

Quickly Claire scratched more words, which Wesker deciphered with a squint.

"Pepperoni, bacon and sausage, please, a large."

Claire clicked her pen a bit and watched him hand the menu over, and when the waiter left, Albert sighed.

"My god, your handwriting is atrocious. Who taught you how to write?"

_'Chris did. Why?'_

"That would explain it. Because his handwriting is positively hieroglyphic."

Claire snorted and smiled. She sipped the soda through her straw, withdrawing into thought.

Then she picked up her pen and wrote carefully, turning it toward him.

_'Why are you spending time with me?'_

He tapped the table in thought - a steady rap of his fingertip on the worn vinyl top. "Because. You're interesting. Anyone who is willing to transform their grief into silence for their own sake is interesting. Do you blame yourself for your parents' deaths?"

The young teenager sensed he was asking for interest's sake. Why did he care? Maybe to help understand Chris, to help him with his job? To come right out and say it hurt. Of course her therapist had posited she was blaming herself. So what if she was? It was her fault. It was completely her fault.

She closed her eyes, grimacing. She wrote, _'You don't understand, yes I blame myself but you don't know what happened.'_

"A fatal car accident on an icy road. Two lives taken, both instantly deceased on impact." He frowned. "You were nowhere near the vehicle in question. Enlighten me. Tell me what happened."

Claire shook her head. She wasn't ready. Even if she was already forced to remember it. The conversation before, the argument, the relent.

It was so stupid. So, so stupid.

_'I killed them. I know I did.'_

"Claire." Here, Wesker reached out his hand, taking hold of hers. He squeezed hard. "It's counterproductive to punish yourself. It does nothing to help you, and it isn't helping your brother."

She hung her head. She knew that, too. She was a burden.

He kept holding on tightly, to the point of pain. "I know you think these are the words that any therapist will vomit in order to claim their job was done. But I'm not your therapist. I'm your friend, maybe. If you let me. Or I can hurt you if you prefer."

He tilted her chin up. The pizzeria shrank until it was simply their booth - he had a way of compressing space and time. Freezing it for her, locking her in with him and those damn eyes of his.

"But I'm not going to treat you like you're fragile. You're not broken. Not yet. You don't know what it is to be shattered and made whole again. That's what you need, hm?"

She swallowed, the gentle press of his fingertips against her throat pleasant. She knew what he meant. Somehow she just... knew.

Her small frame was shaking so hard when he let go.

"When you get home - when you leave the pizzeria, I want you to treat yourself better. And I want you to get rid of this idea that you are responsible for what happened. Because that is ridiculous and illogical." He straightened, his hand gently closing into a loose fist atop the table. "For now, I want you to enjoy this pizza. I'm paying for it, so you had better."

So many questions burned inside; her pen, however, would not move. She just sipped soda until she got hiccups again. Wildly spinning, her thoughts tumbled into jargon and images. She was afraid of him, while entirely entranced. Her hands worried at the napkin that had wrapped up her forks. Her hands unfolded and refolded it a dozen times.

When the waiter came and went with the pizza pie, the silence was broken again by none other than Albert again.

"Claire, are you upset with me?"

She shook her head no, pulling a piece of pepperoni from the slice and eating it carefully.

"Scared?"

No again. Which was a lie, a little one. She was scared. She dared to pick up her pen and wrote, _'What about Chris?'_

Albert gave a small smile. He raised a finger and whispered, "Shhh. Just our little secret. You and I. Does that make you feel better? Less scared?"

She nodded, her arms feeling like jelly.

If this turned bad.... _awful_... If this ended up with her in this guy's basement, defiled and dismembered, then maybe that was for the best. After all, Chris had nothing to do with this. He was the one who suffered the most after the crash.

She had nothing to lose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So finally we may be heading into some strange (but so far nonsexual) shit.


	5. Chapter 5

Claire had two therapy sessions the next week. It was getting warmer out and there were stirrings of a late October heatwave hitting the region. Of course nobody told the people who ran the AC in school. Claire tied her jacket around her hips on Wednesday, dragging her feet from her last class before lunch. That's when she saw the boy with the glasses again.

Tom, she thought, blinking away the fog of a hot day. She straightened, crossing her arms a bit to hide the dark stains under her arms from sweating it out in Algebra. She managed a smile.

She had been having lunch with him for a couple days now, listening to him talk about books and games. He was cute... when he wasn't talking. It's not that she didn't care about his interests, it was just because she had none in common with him.

"Hey. Um... I just was wondering, did you wanna eat lunch with me?"

She nodded, shifting uncomfortably. She was too warm. The stink coming from the cafeteria was absolutely putting her off her appetite. Hopefully the candy coins leftover from last week weren't melting into the bottom of her bag. Not the best lunch but it was a welcome alternative.

In the cafeteria, it wasn't much cooler. Her head ached when she sat down at last, opening up her book bag and extracting her melty, gooey lunch.

Tom sat across from her and made a sad face. "Oh boy. Didn't make it, did they?"

He himself cracked open a lunch he brought from home. Whatever it was looked awful but the way Tom dug into it made her stomach twinge. She nibbled on melted chocolate while he talked about this weekend thing he and his friends were planning.

"You know the Burton girls? They're really cool. They're in your class, right?"

Claire vaguely remembered the roll calls in one class. She nodded, eyeing his dish. Looked like some kinda cold chicken salad with salt and pepper and - was that BACON?

"Want a bite?" Tom arched a brow. He pulled a spare fork out of his bag and handed it over. She tentatively speared a bit onto the tines and gave a bite. It was... cold and delicious and the little bits of bacon were perfectly crispy and salty.

She gave a hearty thumbs up and went for a second bite.

"Jeez. Trade you, then?"

She pushed her chocolates at him to share, and stole his tupper ware treat.

"Anyways, so... I was wondering, if you'd like to come with. It's a bonfire thing we do every year up here."

When...when is that? Her notebook had become her best friend. This was the age before phones and texting had become the go-to communication devices they were. She had pages set aside for her and Tom's conversations, and pages for her and teachers. She didn't need pages for Chris.

And she had pages for Albert all the way toward the back.

"This weekend. Did you wanna go?"

_I have to ask my brother._

"Okay. I'm sure he'll be okay with it 'cause he works with their Dad." He sounded hopeful. Part of her prayed Chris just said no, that she had too much homework or something. "Can't hurt to ask, right?"

She had to agree, nodding in affirmation, though her thoughts were spinning with how many ways she could make this go wrong.

For some reason the weight of a social engagement with the students who treated her like disease made her feel sick. She had zero desire for normal human engagements.

After school, she didn't see Albert (thank God, for some reason) and instead of going straight home she decided to honor her appointment with her therapist.

She told her she had been invited to go out to an event his weekend, and her paranoia-slash-self-loathing kept her from wanting to go.

"You should go. Bring Chris with you. It'll be good for both of you."

After that it was pretty much about how school was going and about how her interest in Tom was purely out of pity. She had no reason to hang out with Tom other than he paid her any kind of attention at school that wasn't whispers behind her back, or judgment or criticism.

She went home after, stripped off her clothes and washed off the day in a cool shower. Out of spite for herself, she made it colder until she was shivering.

Maybe she was overreaching. Maybe Tom's intentions were pure and he simply wanted to invite her into a group because he knew what it was like to be lonely. He wasn't exactly a jock, nor was he exceedingly smart or clever, but he was... earnest. He was transparent and she liked that.

She thought he might look better without his glasses, too. Her eyes shot open at the thought before she jumped out of the shower, her hands snatching at the towel to wrap it around her naked breasts and run into her room. She cranked on the fan and flopped into bed, face first, alone with her thoughts.

What would Albert do?

He had no reason to be there, so obviously he wouldn't be going. As far as she knew, he didn't have kids. Imagining him with children was oddly unsettling but endearing at the same time.

No, she didn't want that. She wanted... Something.

Maybe it would be good for her after all.

 

* * *

 

"What are you so happy about?" Albert sounded less than amused, though the smile would have anyone thinking otherwise.

_I'm going out this weekend this weekend with Barry Burton's daughters. Friends from school, that sort of thing._

"Oh? This is cause for celebration then." He reached over, stealing one of her fries, dripping with chili cheese sauce and bacon bits.

She wrinkled her nosed, sipping her ice cold soda. It was Thursday after school now, and the heatwave was said to extend into the weekend - perfect bonfire weather.

_I don't know if I should go._

"Why the hell not?"

_I don't know the Burton girls..._

"I know the Burton's father. He's a good man. Staunch companion. Good family man. Excellent record of service as a beat cop."

_I still don't know his daughters. What if--_

Albert dropped his hand over hers.

"You're a smart young woman, Claire. You're like your brother. So much. You'll stand up for yourself. Won't you?"

**Was he worried? What was this look for?**

"Besides. Burton and Chris will be there. I'm presuming at least a few adults will be in attendance."

He squeezed. Then let go.

"Remember what I told you?"

She nodded. Her face was crimson from his touch. She watched him watching her, the slowing chew of his jaw as he finished the french fry.

 _You should come with us_ , she wrote. She sat back, looking down at her fries. Her eyes watered a bit.

"Oh, Claire." He sighed, sitting back in the booth seat - today he sat across from her. So he could watch her always, give her no place to hide. "I can't. I have to travel this weekend. I'll be back on Monday."

A shaken sigh betrayed her disappointment.

"I know what you're doing. You need to let yourself be happy."

She hesitated to let him know about Tom; she hadn't been able to mention him, out of some measure of guilt. Somehow she had put it in her mind that letting him know would let him down in some way.

She couldn't imagine why, only that that look... she imagined him turning away, scoffing. Leaving her, disgusted, and fed up.

Chris did that so often lately she was almost certain every man in the world would do it if given the slightest indication that he was letting him down.

 _See you on Monday_ , she mouthed before she left to go home. She had only to survive tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

She tapped Chris's shoulder, and he turned around after he was done putting the leftover hamburgers in the fridge.

"You all right, kiddo?"

That was his default response. _I'm okay. I'm going to the bonfire thing tomorrow with the Burton girls, did you want to go too?_

"Yeah. I knew about that, Barry was tellin' me something about that. Rebecca's goin' too. She's nice."

 _Is your boss going, too?_ she asked, in an effort to get information and sounded interested about his life. She was in a way - the part about Wesker.

"Uh, no. Somethin' about being called away to some CDC training program."

She nodded. Her eyes flickered awkwardly to the clock. Is he nice? You don't talk about him much.

"He's...." Chris paused in thought, straightening to prop himself against the kitchen counter. He rubbed his chin. "Intense. Work-driven. He's as cold as a fuckin' glacier. And I dunno, it's like he's got a bone to pick with me. Like, okay, I get it - I fucked up as a flight cadet, but this is a new job, and I'm... I'm trying."

She reached up, laying a hand on his forearm. She patted gently. Then she hugged him, tight. Her brother was going to be there tomorrow. The least she could do was be happy and enjoy herself, and be supportive. He bear-hugged her, letting out a deep breath he'd probably been holding for days.

She looked up at him, pointing at his chest. _You should have fun too, okay?_

"Yeah, yeah."

 _Get a date_.

"Wh-what?!"

 _You saw what I said._ Claire smiled a little bit more, and it felt natural. She giggled, punching him playfully in the arm before turning to get some homework done.


	6. Chapter 6

Chris drove to the bonfire place, parking the rugged metal heap on wheels next to Barry's bigger sedan, and a couple others cars he didn't recognize. Naturally, a party involving parents wasn't all that exciting as far as teenagers were concerned, so Helena and Deborah Burton could be seen milling about with a couple of their friends, but they looked up when Chris and Claire appeared.

"Chris!" A big man - the only apt description that fit - rumbled from afar, before he came out of the darkness and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Glad you an' Claire could make it! Hey, there."

She smiled back with politeness.

Apparently someone had told him that she didn't like to talk so he did all the talking for her. "I've heard all about you. Doin' good in school? I'm so glad to meet you at last. And the girls, they've been wantin' to hang out with you."

She tilted her head, looking at Chris, who grinned and winked back at her. She didn't know anyone wanted to do anything with her besides Tom. As soon as Barry Burton finished with his bluster he waved the girls over and they straightened up.

They were a lot younger than she thought. Not really even high schoolers. Maybe the older one was a freshmen but--

"Hi! You wanna play cards?"

Claire nodded at the girls. Apparently they'd brought all kinds of stuff to pass the time. Someone brought a charcoal grill and was making hotdogs and barbeque chicken. A man she didn't know and neither did Chris but the fellow seemed to know his grill. So the food was in good hands.

"Hey, there's some chips and dip over here with some coleslaw if you want. Girls, be nice to Claire, okay?"

They nodded, smiling. They were nice; they chattered away and helpfully told her how to play plain ol' rummy. Claire didn't count herself as soeone who was good at card games, but the way they explained (often contradicting each other and arguing) still managed to help her.

As the sky darkened and the fire pit was built, it became too dark to play cards. Claire kept looking for Tom, but she didn't see him anywhere until later - that's when she saw him drive up with his car, her face heated from the fireplace; she wondered if her hair looked nice, such as it was, brilliant red while lit by the crawling flames to the sky.

"Hey." Tom saw her and waved; he seemed so much more relaxed, it was hardly believable he was the same person. He was in his element - outside, away from school, away from grades and teachers and most of his peers. "I'm so glad you showed up. I'm sorry I'm late. I'll tell you why in a sec."

He walked over to the group, smiling and waving at Barry and the girls. A few other teenagers, thankfully excluding Christina and the brunette from before, stopped whatever they were doing - tossing little twigs and leaves into the fire or something - and waved to him briefly.

It was clear he didn't have very many friends, but those he did know smiled on him. Not like her. Besides the Burtons, the others had sort of overlooked her.

That was fine with Claire; she knew she didn't rightly belong.

She didn't see Chris, which was troublesome. She searched, but didn't see him anywhere.

Tom sat down beside her, leaning against her. He put his coat around her - it was surprisingly warm and welcome, smelled like floral drier sheets. She leaned against him, her heart thundering, her palms sweating.

"You wanna see what I brought with me? I know it's supposed to be this cool fall event. But it gets boring." He stood up to offer his hand. "Come on."

Claire had no choice but to stand up and join him, following him to his car in the dark. So far, the only trepidation she felt was the ordinary - soaking up the attention.

"Just a couple beers, that's all." She noticed it at last: a little six pack of beer in the back, hiding under some school papers.

Her eyes raised toward him, blinking... then down again, anxiously worrying at the hem of her shirt.

"Is it okay? We don't have to. I... I just know it's been hard on you and I've been struggling in my classes, too. The best part of my day is when I get to sit with you at lunch."

He sounded like he was comforting her more than himself. She was locked in thought, then reached out tentatively for the six pack.

 _Have fun_ , she heard Albert say.  _Enjoy herself. She should._  That did not explicit mean be bad and drink underage. She wasn't even eighteen, much less twenty-one.

The details were pleasantly fuzzy; she remembered taking his hand and walking into the woods, sitting down in the dark and listening to him. He told her how his dad was struggling with his health; how mom was trying to keep it all together. He leaned on her and cried a little. They had both been drinking, and she just listened, let him pour his woes onto her and soak in like a sponge.

It isn't so bad, she thought to him. At least they're still alive. You can hear their voices and hug them and they're there for you in some way.

Her thoughts rushed through her; she just wished he would stop crying.

She put her hand between his thighs while he wept and he hardened immediately under her clumsy touch; his icy hands climbed under the cups of her bra and squeezed; her breath was shaking out of her without a voice.

He shakily unzipped his jeans. The flesh in her hand was hot and it felt small but painful and stiff. She didn't remember when she started or when he finished, but they walked back through the woods after awhile.

No one seemed to have noticed them being gone. Claire hid behind a swath of her auburn hair, feeling hollowed out and nauseated.

Tom hugged her stiff armed body. "I'm real sorry, Claire." Then he was gone - probably to go be alone with his shame.

Finally she saw her brother, sitting on a log beside a woman she hadn't met yet. He was leaning very close and talking to her, his elbows on his knees and his eyes glittering in the firelight. The Burton girls were huddling under a blanket and watching their dad play guitar.

Claire slunk behind a tree, leaned, and heaved the beer up. Then she climbed into the passenger side of their car and hid. Tom's car was gone.

What did I do? she said, painful breaths straining from her as she sobbed, holding in the sound. I'm horrible. I'm just horrible. He just wanted you to listen. He just wanted to talk to you.

He just wanted something from me. I just gave him what he really wanted, she argued. Her eyes burned. He just wanted to... to get to her, and use her.

But he apologized. She didn't know what for, since he didn't do anything. Claire started it. She choked, trying to stifle the thought of how his cock felt in her fingers, or how his fingers dug sharply into the meat of her breasts, or the way he grunted as he broke--

A killer. A slut, too. How many more titles could she acquire before they jetted off to the next town, the next job, the next disappointment?

 

* * *

 

The following week brought a chill that bit through her thin cotton gloves. Her cheeks stung a bit. She floated through the morning. Chris didn't talk to her about the woman he was sitting with, and while Claire nibbled on peanut buttered toast, she tried to remember her clearly. Was she blonde or brunette? Her hair was just shiny in the light, her bright eyes locked onto Chris as if afraid of missing a word he said.

Somehow, she couldn't really think back on that night without flashing to what she'd been doing in the dark. Her whole body heated and blushed, then washed out cold as if her blood had drained completely.

She went about her day in a daze, which wasn't unusual. She was exhausted; the chilled air sapped at her strength reserves and it was all she could do to keep from falling asleep in study hall.

She avoided Tom wherever possible. Every time she thought she saw him she would duck the other way. It was odd that he didn't chase her, but it confirmed she must have done something wrong.

It sat with her like a poison, curling up in her guts, killing her own appetite. She didn't want to eat, and by the time the end of the school day came around, she felt a budding hunger headache behind her eyes.

Wesker was the last person she wanted to see, but that was exactly who was waiting for her. Right outside the school, parked in his car, his window cracked. He didn't advertise his presence per se, but no one could miss that car. Especially her.

She raised her hand briefly but she kept walking, fast.

 _Not today_ , she thought.  _Not today, I don't want to talk to him today._

The car followed before pulling away, and she let a weight lift from her shoulders. That was one thing she didn't have to deal with was his probing questions, that intense look.

_He would not even want you now, since you're such a whore._

She was all but exhausted when she dropped her bookbag by the door and meandered through the house to the kitchen, opening the fridge to fetch some jam and make herself a sloppy peanut butter and jam sandwich. The bread tasted ashy in her mouth, the jam too painfully sweet and the peanut butter like oily glue. She forced it down.

Then she crawled up into bed and listened for Chris to get home, both dreading it and missing the only family she yet possessed.

She missed her mother so suddenly, it was like forgetting then remembering to breathe. She gasped and whimpered. Would her mother would be ashamed? Her eyes closed, tugging her pillow close.

Unbidden, the desire flowed over her. Her face heated, and she thought about Wesker and the way he leaned into her and spoke to her, dismissive of her silence and dragging her into the light. He all but grabbed her by the throat and demanded she speak.

The feeling never left her.

 

* * *

 

Wesker watched and saw everything. At times like these, he wished he could claw out his own eyes.

He watched when Chris leaned close to Jill, his hand resting gently on her back as if caressing. He could have rested that hand on the back of her swivel office chair. He could have leaned on the table, yet it was her body he went for. His heavy presence weighing over her, protecting her. Crushing her.

Wesker took deep breaths, watching the woman he couldn't have - simply because it would create too much tension in an already-strained work environment - surrender to the macho bull of a man with the charisma of a house plant.

He exhaled slowly, his grip on the Ticonderoga Number 2 pencil so unforgiving that when his thumb pressed, the fragile wood snapped. Shook, he placed the two pieces neatly side by side up near the memo pad.

Near the top of the page with another pencil, he wrote,  _Odi et amo._

He felt the movement of time like a physical thing, like a sheet slowly being pulled from his face. He longed to get away from here, to get away from them. To focus on what was most important: his work at the Mansion. Clouded by his hate and anguish, it was impossible to get anything done beside his duties related to his cover as S.T.A.R.s captain.

He left in his car, taking the usual route past the plaza. He saw Claire walking again. It was the third time this week that she just hurried. She didn't even stop to acknowledge him. It rankled him, because it showed him to be petty enough to pull up almost onto the curb to stop her.

"Claire."

She faltered, looking reluctantly toward him like a wounded animal. The naked pain on her face startled him. Her face twisted with anguish, the tears built and spilled. She raised her hands to sign something but dropped them again.

"Get in," he said, leaning over to unlock the door by pulling on the mechanism by the window. She clambered in, hugging her bookbag. The sobs were even harder to listen to in close quarters.

He put it in drive and continued, casting continuous concerned glances at the teenager sobbing in his passenger seat. Questions would prove fruitless until she had gotten it clean out of her system. Until then he didn't want to go back to the plaza. Instead he drove her straight up the road, past the Redfield house, into the more forested houses sheltered by deciduous trees. One of them was Wesker's, after a long driveway. He turned in and pulled up, but left the engine idling.

Claire hiccuped. He reached across her, his hand brushing her knees and opened the glove compartment. Some napkins were bunched inside. "Here." He handed them to her. The book bag on her lap made it harder to close it.

Claire wiped her eyes, blew her nose. She swallowed hard.

"What happened today?" Why have you been avoiding me? was the question he craved to ask.

Claire swallowed heavily. Something happened this weekend. I don't think I should tell you. I'm ashamed.

"You can tell me anything, Claire. I thought you knew that."

She shook her head, not to disagree, but to refuse to tell. Finally she yanked out her pen and notebook, turning to a page and wrinkling the others in the process, and held it on her backpack so she could write.

I went into the woods with him alone and touched him.

Wesker immediately zeroed in on her face. His voice was terrifyingly quiet. Not with judgment but fury. "Who? Touched who? Who did this to you?"

She wheezed, biting her lip.

I touched him because I wanted to.

"Was it a man?"

She shook her head.

"Someone from school?"

An emphatic nod. More tears.

Wesker relaxed. But only a little. He watched her for so long in the quiet. Thinking.

 

* * *

 

Claire began to wonder if she was wrong to tell him. She couldn't tell if he was angry or not. She grew scared, watching him, until she drew her fingers up to her lips and began to worry at the edge of nail.

He reached across to take her hand, his eyes not leaving her face.

"Claire."

He brushed her bangs back, behind the curve of her ear.

 _I'm a whore_ , she mouthed.

"No," he said. "You're not. It's perfectly natural."

Claire disagreed. She whispered softly, "I did it to him... I did it."

"But it's not what you... wanted, to do."

She shivered against his hand against her cheek. Shaking her head softly. She didn't, not really. She wrote, _I just did what I thought he wanted... just to make him go away._

"But you don't like him that way - but you think he is a good person. That's why he was with you that night. Claire... what do you want, then?" He phrased it gently, genuinely curious. She had done something that she disliked greatly. Clearly. And now it was constantly haunting her. Whispered about.

He was too close. She could smell the soap he used to wash his clothes. The aftershave on his cheek. She wanted something. Something no boy her age could give her. She swore he could feel the heat from her face. Thinking of her own bedroom, where so many sinful secrets were kept.

"Claire."

She placed her hand over his, keeping it against her face, before she craned across the storage compartment quickly, sealing her lips quickly over his. She dropped her pen between the seats. Her eyes lidded; a tender whimper sighed against his lips. Was he leaning in? His hand was in her hair, his tongue at her lips, tasting the salt of her tears. Between her thighs, at the junction of her hips, she ached. It was like a pull, a twinge.

" _Claire._  God."

He stared back at her; lips parted, breathing harder with a look. That look. She loved it on him. She pressed her lips together for a second. He wanted her. It felt frightening, liberating, so very wrong.

"Is this what you want?" He tugged his hand softly through her auburn hair. Squeezed, tugging at the strands near the back of her skull.

Claire gasped.

 _Oh, no. Don't do that. It's too awful._  Her breath came in short, whining bursts.

"Tell me." His lips brushed her chin, following her lips as her head craned back to alleviate the tension.

Her throat ached, her chest bursting with captured air. She felt like she was falling too fast into the center of the earth, pulled by gravity. By him.   
Then she let it all go. All of it. Everything.

"Yes.  _Yes._ "


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to have to add a new tag for this fic after this one. This got kinda kinky-dark real quick.

"Yes what?" His hold relaxed.

Claire pushed her backpack, stuck in her seat with it.

"I... You." She whined softly, sliding her fingers to his face, touching the hard surfaces. He caught her wrists, pulling them away.

"Not yet." He held her tight.

Claire gave him a look - partly teenage sass, mostly... that. That hungry look. "Claire. Not. Now."

The tone seemed to remind her of her place. She shrank back to her seat, trembling a little, her hands loosening in his grip. She speared him with a question gaze. When? When?

"You'll know when I tell you." Wesker reined back his thoughts. Her taste still lingered, salty-sweet tears on his tongue. "Whatever it is you want... you will come to me. You will tell me these things. Don't spare a single detail. Every filthy thing. Or you can cry. Scream, hit me."

Her eyes shot open wider in alarm, but when he suggested she hit him, she shook her head.

"No?"

She shook her head again. _No hitting you._

"Why not?"

"Hit... hit me."

Wesker smiled slowly. "Because you're bad?"

Her eyes melted, a blissed out expression. And one of relief. It made sense to her. At last. It made sense. She was terrible. _Bad, slut, whore. Killer._ "Yeah."

"What else, Claire?"

Her head swam. She was suddenly suffocating in her own thoughts, not knowing where to start. She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together.

"Tell me. Are you a virgin, Claire?"

A quivering nod, to which he laughed: "That is hardly a slut, Claire. Honestly. So you gave some acne-ridden teenager a little polish, nothing to condemn you."

The grimace amused him even more.

Her face was still so red. She needed air.

"You have therapy three times a week now?"

Her eyes blinked rapidly. How'd he know that?

"I want you to cancel Friday." He put the car in reverse, craning to look over the seat through the rear window as he backed up out of his driveway. Back down the wooded road, toward her house. "I'll pick you up by the plaza. We have a lot to talk about."

Talking, talking. Why did everyone want her to talk? Her eyes shut tightly as she felt the car roll and bump along underneath her, stimulating her further. It was torture.

He dropped her off. She felt herself weaken with anxiety. What if he never stopped to pick her up Friday?

That look in his eyes was no mistake. She was so certain. Albert Wesker had kissed her back, just for a second, and pulled her hair.

Long after he had driven away, she stood near her porch wondering if she had imagined it all. Then she went inside to close the door. She was so hungry, with her nerves skyrocketing through the roof, forcing her hands to tremble as she poured her milk and cereal for a quick snack. She went upstairs to eat, sitting on her bed, and watching the candle flame flicker as its scent warmed the room.

 

* * *

 

Wesker's knuckles were white. He stared at them, gripping the steering wheel as he sat passively in his driveway. His blood still roared in his ears, lips still tasting salty-sweet. Achingly sweet.

In his mind's eye he saw Chris's back hunched over Jill, his lips closed to her hair, whispering about something while she pushed at him and smiled.

And then he saw Claire, lovely broken Claire, leaning across to him, reaching and reaching.

It was so clear, so perfect. He could have had her then and there. But he didn't. Not then. He needed time. He had to think.

Once he climbed out of the car, the chilled sobered him. By the time he reached his front door, he was planning. He grimaced. Chris was an irredeemable piece of garbage. He didn't deserve Jill. He didn't deserve Claire, either.

If he couldn't have one, he would take the other. It didn't matter of Chris knew. And he would know, eventually.

Not for a long, long time.

 

* * *

 

Claire chewed her pencil, watching the clock on the wall with such a rapt and painful expression. Her hair was pulled into a tight, neat pony tail, to keep her thick hair from hanging against her neck. Waiting forever for the time to pass.

She barely noticed the whispers she thought she heard from the other students. Tom didn't sit with her at lunch Thursday or Friday. But he watched her. She didn't glance long enough to see what kind of expression he had on his face; every time she felt an ounce of guilt, she remembered that she was seeing Albert today.

Today. Today. If only two-o'-clock would just get around here sooner.

She raced to her locker to put any books away that she wouldn't need for the weekend. While her hands fumbled to shove her books inside, Christina came up behind her.

"Hey. Did you fuck Tom at the autumn bonfire?"

Claire froze. _What?_ She turned, shakily looking up at her.

"Well, did you? I mean." There was a wickedness about Christina that she sensed long ago. Her brunette friend was there too. She was behind her. Smiling, too. Why?

Why is she doing this?

"I mean, everyone's talking about it. How you and Tom went into the woods and like, did it, on the ground."

Claire's throat burned. Her eyes forced themselves upward, thinking about Wesker. She knew it wasn't true. She shook her head vehemently. Then she shoved her away, heading out through the large glass double doors.

"Fucking bitch!" Christina shrieked at her, then burst out laughing.

The laughter chased her out into the open air. Claire broke into a haggard run, her throat aching until she could reach the plaza. She'd had to call her therapist and cancel. There was no such thing as texting. It came as a surprise to the woman on the other line, who never heard Claire utter a word in her office. She explained that she was sick, she wasn't feeling well and just wanted to go straight home.

The lie felt easy after it was over and done with, yesterday while Chris was still at work. She reached the plaza in record time, refusing to let the shrill words get to her. After all, they were nothing short of the same exact thing she had told herself daily.

Except she hadn't done anything like that with Tom. Maybe... it was worse that she had only touched him.

She squeezed her arms over her chest to dispel the memory of his hands there. Icy, insistent.

As she stood there, Wesker's car came along. She climbed in without a word, but threw her bag in the back seat.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her. When she nodded, her smirked. "Oh? Not speaking to me again, hm?"

Claire puffed out her cheeks and shrugged, not sure why she couldn't. Or wouldn't. Not yet.

"We'll have to fix that, won't we?" He smiled, turning up their road. And right into the driveway. Chris won't be back, not for hours.

She clenched her hands a bit, watching him. She climbed out of her car, grabbing her backpack from the back seat. He walked up with her, looking around briefly - and she was startled by the way he moved. She hadn't seen him in awhile outside of being in his car.

It still needs a little fixing up, she thought as she stared up at the roof, where some of the tiles were coming loose on the corner. She shifted, fixing her skirt as she walked up the porch and inside, letting him in.

Her blood chilled in her veins, unlocking the door with her spare key and walking in. It was quiet. She slapped on the light to the kitchen and felt mildly embarrassed at the sink full of dishes, the garbage she was supposed to have taken out. She didn't know that Wesker would be taking her home.

"This..."

"Yes?"

He was against her back. Almost touching. But his voice was so close she almost knocked her head back against his chin in alarm.

"Th-This is stupid. What if Chris...?"

"I gave him enough work to do. He won't be coming home until a little later than usual. That gives me plenty of time."

Time? Her heart thundered. She had two days. Two days to think about what she said in his car. What all that implied.

Her head hurt and she whined, suddenly pulling away.

"Time for wh-what?"

"To make you dinner." He held up a grocery bag, the corners of his mouth raised in amusement. "Didn't you see me come out of the grocery store?"

She hadn't. She was lost in thought. She stared at the bag, curious as to the contents. Then her stomach dropped again as she turned to the woefully full sink. She turned and began to run the water, fumbling to organize everything. The Redfields had not been very able to keep up with their chores. Chris was often too tired, or visiting his new girlfriend. And Claire often went straight to her room to write or listen to music and do her homework.

It was terribly depressing.

"It's fine, it's fine. Let me help." He placed the whole bag of groceries in the fridge and winced at the state of it as well. One thing at a time. Claire rolled up her sleeves and blushed furiously when he stood next to her, grabbing dish soap and a scrubby. "Move aside. I wash; you rinse."

Once they got going, the dishes were soon lined up neatly on the drying apparatus next to the sink. Claire liked to take her damp hands and put them on her neck. Her hair was up, but she was still too warm now. Now it was time to figure out what he was going to make.

Before that, though, Wesker reached up, sliding his fingertips along the bump against the back of her neck. His hands were damp and cold once he rinsed them off and she shivered. He picked loose stray bits of her hair from her neck.

"You're wearing a skirt today. I've never seen it before." He spoke softly, his hard fingers working into the muscles near her back, her shoulders. "Why?"

Claire wilted a bit, the tips of her ears burning now. She remembered getting dressed this morning, yanking out clothes as yet unpacked from her clothes, looking for that one skirt... and then trying it on, praying she hadn't gained any weight. To her relief and delight, it still fit. She felt the soft fabric brush against her bare thighs. Her hips swaying a bit more, aware of the freedom. Biting her lip at herself in the mirror and wondering if Albert would like it... if he would notice. Notice her body more.

"You wanted my attention?" He sighed, releasing her at last. "You absolutely have my attention. But not for that reason." He stepped away to get the items from the fridge.

"Sit down." He handed her a cold soda in a glass bottle and began to clean off the stove to access the heating element. He even brought his own spices. "You haven't had a proper dinner in weeks, haven't you?"

She sat down with a thump at the kitchen table, opening the soda with her hand and the edge of her shirt. She sipped it while she watched him do something with some meat and vegetables. Soon the whole kitchen smelled amazing, and her mouth watered. Her stomach ached.

She focused on his shoulders and his back, his head bowed as he worked over the stove.

"I hope you don't mind a little stir-fry. It's better than the garbage you get from ordering out." He tossed the contents in the pan with a practiced jerk of his hand a few times.

"You... you like to cook?"

"When I can." Toss, toss. Stir, stir. "You get more out of food if you prepare it yourself."

"Dad liked to cook. So did mom." She paused. Her eyes glistened a bit, remembering when he'd make his famous baked macaroni and cheese with actual bacon sprinkled on top with crumbs.

He took the pan off the stove and twisted off the gas burner, plated up the food for her and sat with her. He was too far away to feel his warmth; she speared pieces of vegetable and bits of beef from the stirfry and devoured nearly every last bite.

"Will you tell me what happened? Your parents."

She pursed her lips, blowing air over the top of the glass Cola bottle until it hummed, then stopped, taking a deep breath. She didn't talk about her parents with anyone. She didn't write about them. She didn't talk to Chris about them much. Even her therapist couldn't get her to open up about it.

"We were... all on vacation. It was sunny and... I liked swimming. I really liked the water. I wouldn't come out until I was all pruny and so sunburned..." She shook her head. "I forgot something... it was my stupid necklace. I took it off and left it, it was my birthstone. I made them drive all the way back... to the beach place to get it. Maybe someone found it and brought it to lost and found. It was so important to me... I cried and cried and screamed." She worried at the glass bottle. "They left me with Chris so they could go get it... it was supposed to be a quick trip... just to make me happy. Head on collision.... killed them instantly."

Wesker slowly turned to look at her a bit. An unreadable, open expression on his face, he listened.

"As much as it seems that way, it wasn't your fault." His voice did its best to sound tender.

"I made them go. I _made them go_."

"They decided to do that. They didn't have to."

"If I hadn't made such a stupid fucking big deal about it..." She shook her head. She covered her face. She didn't want to cry again. This wasn't how she saw today going. She needed to forget about it and... bury it, like always.

"They did it because they loved you."

"That makes it worse! What about your parents? What if _you_ sent them off on a stupid errand and they died?"

Albert leaned back again, folding a napkin and tossing it into his now-emptied plate. He didn't say anything about that, but let her collect herself.  Finally he broke his silence.

"Your parents are dead, Claire. There's nothing to be done. I know it... hurts, but," he paused, to give himself a minute to think. "I don't know how I'd feel if I lost them because I never had any parents. I'm sorry."

"I wish nobody loved me," she said angrily, miserably. "I wish I was fucking _dead--_ "

Suddenly she was up out of her chair and staggering to find her footing. He gripped her so hard by the arm she barely registered the slap across her face.

"Enough." He shook her, standing above her. Her shoulder ached, her face stung. She looked up at him, so surprised she didn't have room to be afraid of what he would do next. "Never, never say that again. There's nothing so insulting to me than wishing yourself dead when I'm sitting _right here._ "

Albert dragged his chair to the middle of the kitchen and pulled her close. He shoved her face down over his knee, his thighs digging into her ribs. Her face blanched, and she almost felt sick. This is it. This is when my brother's psychopath boss kills me in my own fucking house.

Instead of a knife or a gun, she felt his hand at the bottom of hem of her skirt.

"Tell me you won't ever say such a stupid insipid thing again. Don't even let the thought cross your mind."

"I-I..." Tears spattered the linoleum floor. Her pony tail hung upside down, brushing her forehead and her nose, tickling. She wanted to die. Was that really so bad?

"Say it."

"I can't."

Her body jolted when his hand struck her buttocks. She fumbled to grab onto something to keep from sliding forward onto the floor. Instead she felt his opposite hand grab her pony tail and yank.

Her chin came up and her hands floundered uselessly, her mouth agape.

"Tell me. Tell me you want to live."

He slapped again with enough force to make her cry out. The skirt was yanked up, exposing her underwear, a simple floral print, bikini cut, and she felt so terribly exposed and mundane... and yet with every brutal strike, she was sinfully aroused. Her whole body shook. Her scalp hurt like hell; her spine ached. It was all decadent and delicious.

"No," she barked, defiant. If I die now, at least I'm happy. She even tried to little success to raise herself up for him.

"Claire." He growled her name with promise. She felt something, the ghost of his palm almost touching her skin, the curve of her ass tingling with residual heat. "You infuriate me."

He let go slowly, so she could slide off and stagger upward, yank her skirt back into place. Her pony tail was a loosened mess. Facing him now, she saw how dark his face had become. Something angry and lustful. Maybe even hateful.

"You. You are so much like your brother." Shakily, he took a breath. "So, so stubborn."

"I-I'm sorry." Claire watched his face carefully, backing up. Standing up only made her painfully aware how wet she had become, a chill patch against her sex where her underwear had bunched during her struggle. "I'm sorry. I..."

"That's not what I wanted to hear." He stood up and towered over her.

Claire swallowed the bitterness in her throat and slid forward one step, sliding into his arms. She hugged him hard around the chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I want to live. I do. I'm sorry." She pressed her face into his chest, the closest she had ever been to him. Skin like rock underneath the fabric stiffened when he raised his arms to hold onto her. Sobbing so hard, the teenager couldn't stop to catch a breath. She started hyperventilating. He rubbed her back, then took her gently by her shoulders to give her space.

"Easy. Claire, it's all right. Calm down."

"I'm-- so...rry."

"It's not your fault. It's all right. Calm down. You're just having a panic attack, it'll pass. It's all right."

When she could begin go breathe and her vision cleared, she was sitting down, feeling ashamed of herself, her eyes feeling swollen adn itchy from crying far too much.

He got her a glass of water and knelt across from her.

He looked contrite.

"Here. You should take a nap."

"Don't go," she whispered, looking up after a sip of water. "Please..."

The STARs captain checked his watch - the same one he'd had fixed at the mall. "We have time."

"I wanna go lay down." She sensed his hesitation and she smiled pathetically. "Nothing weird. I just wanna lay down."

Claire was suddenly aware of how musty and dry the house was. She could smell everything, as though she'd washed out all her senses. She stood up and walked through the living room and down the little hall to her bedroom, her eyes glancing back to see he was following. She blushed a bit, opening the door to her realm of cardboard boxes. She climbed onto the bed and slid her feet and legs under the covers.

Albert sat on the edge, then turned to lay on top of her blankets beside her.

"Go to sleep." He settled his arm around her. "Just go to sleep. I'll stay."

She held onto his arm, her fingers worming in between his so they were holding hands. She took shaky, whistling breaths until her respiration deepened into sleep. Only then did he dare to slip away and return to the kitchen, where he could breathe, tremble, think.

Wesker cleaned up the dishes. He took the leftovers home in a tupper ware dish that nobody would miss.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Wesker had to remember one of the most important lessons of his life: self-control and patience. It had been impossible to resist her. He curled his arm around himself as he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, breathing heavily.

He had never cum so hard laying hands on himself before. He was still breathless, even now, hands washed and body empty and tired.

She wasn't even eighteen years old. And yet he hungered for her pain, her earnest, raw emotions. He wanted to peel her layer by layer, open her up to him, take it all for himself. But there was a proper time for more. That time would wait until Claire was ready.

He sighed, toweling his face dry after cooling himself from icy water out of the tap.

He couldn't forget the way her lips tasted. He would have to conduct himself with better decorum from here on out.

He had looked up her birthday. He knew much about her she didn't realize, such as the schedule for her therapy. He knew where she went. He knew her schedule at school.

He even knew the name of the boy she touched. Tom.

Tom, who broke his own silence to a friend - and let the knowledge of their meeting explode into lewd rumor.

It was time to put an end to that.

 

* * *

 

Claire's head was buzzing with thoughts. Shame and delight. Horror and pleasure. She was still convinced she dreamed that Albert was ever there. She was half-dreamy-eyed staring at the wall when Chris peered over her.

"Claire. Earth to Claire Bear. Wake up!"

Chris waved at her from across their little table. I'm okay.

"You look like you're in la la land. What's goin' on?"

She shrugged. Just happy it's Saturday. I finished my homework.

"Yeah? Any plans? What about that kid?"

She gave him a long look. Whatever it is you're thinking, it isn't true. I'm not seeing anyone.

He snorted. "Listen, I'm not... our parents, but it's still my job to check into your social life every now and then."

I'm not seeing anyone, Chris. She sighed, biting her lip as plunged her fork into breakfast before her. Her eyes were focused on the pile of pancakes, unable to look away. She didn't want Chris to read the lie on her face.

Was she seeing Albert? What was going on? Why did he turn her away that night?

She remembered sleeping in his arms, the smell of his skin and the warmth of his arm around her. It felt good; it felt safe... and he was older than her.

"Look at me, Claire." Chris sat down across from her, wincing a little. "I gotta go meet Jill for lunch today. Do I have anything to worry about if I leave you alone today?"

She shook her head, looking back at him with a blink. I might go for a run today, but that's it.

Her run would take her up the road, toward Wesker's house. She wouldn't forget his driveway. She might even see if he's home, and watch what he does all day on a weekend.

"Just be careful. I want home before it gets dark. And I'll order pizza tonight, if you want."

She beamed a little bit. Pizza didn't sound bad. She was actually starting to like that stuff from that place in the plaza. She crossed her hands over her heart and pointed at him.

"I love you too, Sis."

Claire finished her breakfast and went out for her run while Chris went to go and schmooze his stupid girlfriend. She hadn't met her yet, which was troubling - Chris never brought any of his women friends home unless it got serious... and it wasn't serious yet.

She puffed up the hill, wearing a pair of baggy track pants and a sweatshirt; it was more seasonable chill in the air and she could almost see her breath. Her pony tail bounced along behind her, her shadow tall in the morning autumn light.

She knew precisely where Albert's gravel driveway started, and she hesitated at the base, stopping to peer upward. Should she go to his house? Could she dare? Her eyes traveled up to the turn in the driveway, where she could barely make out a window through the trees. Was it his bedroom window? For awhile, she imagined he was standing there, looking out, watching her. Saying, Come, come inside, come see me.

She shivered a bit, then continued up the hill. The way he left her without even saying goodbye hurt. More, maybe, than it should have. There was a good reason, of course. Chris would have been home. And Wesker was an adult.

She didn't even know how old he was.

The thoughts vanished completely when came upon his driveway and saw him there next to his mailbox in a plain white t shirt and casual, grayish sweatpants and slippers.

It was so jarring she didn't really recognize him until she said hello, and he turned. He looked genuinely surprised to see her.

"Claire...?"

She gestured to indicate that she was just running when she came upon him.

"Finally cold enough to run up this hill." He held onto his mail, closing the box and tilting his head. "Listen. I wanted to tell you... how we should meet. I'm sorry about yesterday. It wasn't... right. You do know that, right?"

She nodded a bit, her face heating up.

"That's why I wanted to ask you if you will be good enough to wait... until you are 18."

Her mouth dropped, while her pulse skyrocketed.

"Your birthday is in the spring, isn't it?"

"April." She shifted her feet a bit, suddenly too aware of being alone with him again. A car went by, though, stirring her from her thoughts. "We... we can still talk though, right?"

"Of course." He nodded, smiling. "You and I can talk whenever you like. If you ever have anything troubling you..."

"Except... that." She made a pointed stare at the ground again. "The thing."

"Yes. Except that." He smirked, shaking his head. "What will I ever do with you, Claire Redfield?"

She shrugged. "Stay... Don't go anywhere on me. Don't... don't leave me."

Albert dared to come closer. He extended his hand to her, which she took, squeezing. His hands were freezing.

"Why do you think I would do that?"

"I dunno. Nobody... stays."

"You're the one that always ends up moving... but you're afraid someone else will." He chuckled, holding her hand a moment longer before letting go, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. "Well. I won't. I've invested too much of my time in this job to just... pick up and leave. And I've warned your brother he isn't allowed to quit, either."

"He's not a quitter. He just has... opinions." She winced, wondering about those opinions that were so bad they consistently got him fired. "He just likes to express them with his fists...?"

"I see." He snorted. "Say... by the way, has brother told you about anyone he's seeing?"

Claire was jarred by the sudden lurching change in direction. She shrugged. "I dunno. He goes out to see this blonde bimbo... I think I saw her once, at the-" Her throat closed at the memory. "-the bonfire. They were sitting together."

"I see." Wesker's lips tightened into a straight, thoughtful line, his expression closed. "He hasn't brought her home yet, so I wouldn't get worried if it's anything serious but... why do you ask?"

"Just making sure there aren't any unnecessary distractions. Can he balance his work and his personal life?" Albert seemed to briefly become someone else. This was probably his 'boss face' - the one he wore around the job. The persona that everyone else knew. Claire was entranced.

"I guess. I'll... let you know?" Claire wasn't sure what he was asking of her. She turned. "I should head back." For her own sanity and safety, she didn't mention that she was home alone. Albert nodded, already turning to walk back up the driveway to his house.

She took a hot shower, then went back to her room. She sat alone with her life packed into neat little boxes, before she reached for the closest one to her and began to unpack.

 

* * *

 

The holidays came quick, though it was a strangely peaceful time. Tom scuttled away from Claire like a wild animal in a panic whenever she happened to lay eyes on his for more than a second.

 _Something happened_ , she thought. But she could finally eat her lunch alone in peace, and continue her doodles in class while also occasionally taking notes. She was doing well, which made Chris happy, even if he found it hard to deal with Wesker's 'bullshit', as he called it.

Claire got away with canceling her Friday appointments in order to spend time with Albert; she met him at the plaza every day, somewhere safe and public, and they ate pizza. Was it dangerous to meet in such a public place? Or was it less wise to meet him at the corner and get in his car?

Either way, the relationship continued at a standstill. She talked to him using her handwriting, her whispers, her little talks. She started to use a whole notebook just for their interactions alone. She hid it under her bed at night, wedged between the mattress and the box spring.

It was exciting, in a way, to carry on like this. But he was holding everything back. He would never touch her. He never breached their agreement of being alone with her. Maybe he was afraid of what she would do, given the chance.

Admittedly, Claire thought she was capable of anything if she could be alone with him. Her lonely winter nights were rife with memories of that day, his hand in her hair, his touch striking her hot skin, causing sparks like a blacksmith shaping iron.

November rolled around.

"Wh-What do you wanna do for Thanksgiving?" Chris was hemming and hawing over a shopping list for the holiday week. He was chewing on the end of a pen, looking over it. "I mean. The Harpers have invited us over to celebrate with them. I know the Harper girls won't stop talkin' about you."

She shrugged again, but she smiled a little. _We can do something at home. Just the two of us. We haven't done anything in awhile as a family._

"Really? Well... sure! But uh, just tell me right away if you wanna do like a whole turkey, or just drumsticks or... hell, a turkey breast?"

 _Just the legs. I like red meat._ Claire beamed at him. _Please? And can you buy a big apple pie?_

"Sure thing, Claire Bear. Anything you want." He one-armed hugged her, then went back to writing, hunched like a heavy-handed football player trying his hand at being a scribe.

When the event in mind came around, Claire and Chris spent Thanksgiving together - to make up for their lack of family, several people stopped by during the course of the day and dropped off food. Almost all of them claiming they didn't like leftovers, even though everything looked like it had been specifiaclly set aside for the Redfields. In the end, the Redfield's seemed to be the catch-all for the STARs' team generosity.

The only one strangely missing was Wesker. Claire thought it would be too strange that she ought to ask. After, late into the night, with her stomach achingly full, Claire gently patted him.

_Hey, Chris. Aren't you seeing anyone?_

"Huh? Wh-what makes you ask that?"

Claire signed. About the girl you go see all the time. I'm not stupid. You're sweet on someone.

"Jeez..."

_I'm mute, not blind. Or deaf. Or stupid._

"Okay. Okay." Chris sighed, tired and sluggish. Yep, he was full, too - like a stuffed sausage, his whole belly distended a bit under a thick muscular layer. "I... might be. Her name's Jill." He blushed. "She's really great, she's... beautiful, she's hard-working. She thinks I'm funny, at least."

Claire smiled. She knew it. Now she had something useful to tell Albert when she saw him again after break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. Now the Moral-Highground Babies can stop bitching. Oh wait. They won't.


	9. Chapter 9

The warmth of the sun broke through the winter's harsh glare eventually. When the temperatures rose, jeans gave way to skirts and shorts and sleeveless tank tops. The pair kept up their meetings on Friday, except on the rare occasion that Chris got home early.

Claire spoke in her silent way in public, and Wesker was beginning to miss the sound of her voice. Reading her lips became easy after awhile and soon the necessity of her pen and paper was obsolete. Their meetings were so indiscrete, but they were harmless as well. No one gave them a second glance. Soon enough, the pizzeria knew their orders by heart and began to have them ready upon their arrival.

It was their secret time. Their special place. No one cared if they spoke here. Only they knew what they felt for each other, promised one another. No one could steal their sacred time away. That's how Claire felt.

She loved him dearly.

When she told him about her brother and his new girlfriend, it was probably the most frightened she had ever been of Albert. Maybe the only time she had ever truly feared him at all. Even when she had been bent across his knee, his hand wrenching and pulling her hair, she hadn't been quite so scared.

Maybe it was because he didn't speak, with this quiet and unhappy tension. He didn't touch his salad. Not even the breadsticks.

She would have done anything to make him look happy. Not because that look was scary but because she didn't think he deserved to be miserable. Claire's thoughts often dissolved into heartfelt expressions of affection during such times when she thought about how he must be. Claire could not have known that he was furious because he wanted Jill, and found Chris a brutish and ugly mate for her.

Claire was too besotted to realize that the reason for his misery was living under the same roof.

\-----

After a miserably long winter, spring came in like a lion, as it is said. The rain and winds pounded the windows of the shuttered windows of the STARS offices. Loosened leaves slapped against the walls, heavy with rain. The weather had been too miserable for even Claire to walk; she had been getting rides home with Chris. They had not been able to meet on Friday.

It was terrible. It was the only time he felt any satisfaction was during his meetings with Claire. And he missed this week.

He curled his hand tightly into a fist, stepping out of the back of the van first, following after Barry, Jill and Chris. As captain, he stayed behind, orchestrated their tactics.

The RCPD had called them in on an especially delicate situation; Raccoon City's jurisdiction included busy, maze-like streets of the business district. In the city center, a grand fountain spouted in the summer time, a proud and noble man wielding both a sword and a scales, robed and proud in the sunlight.

"We're to handle the situation carefully. Tactical support only. There is a hostage situation. You know what to do. The negotiator is down. Bravo team is going in to recover the hostages, while we clear each room of hostiles. Neutralize and sweep as you go. Subdue as many suspects, but if it comes down to defending your life or other's, shoot to kill."

He gave a stern nod to the watching team's serious, attentive faces, and at last looked on Chris. Here was a man who took his job very seriously. He could not fault him for that. While he despised Chris for valid reasons, he had determination to follow through. Even if he could write him off as trying harder because he had more at stake, like his job, his house, his dignity, it was still effort that got results.

Wesker still loathed him. He still found it within his capacity to hate the cheerful and hard-working man with every fiber of his passionate heart.

 

* * *

 

After the assignment, Barry was administering first aid to one of the younger team members. "Gotta be careful of those shitty old stairs," he said calmly. "You'll make it. Just be glad you didn't take a slug to the face."

The others were securing the area while Wesker was given details for his report with Jill. It was one of the rare times he could have her to himself, even for a moment.

"That about sums it up. All in all, there was nothing even in the vents. There was no risk." Jill brushed back her hair, then tied it up once more in a painfully snug pony tail. A few flyaways tickled her face. She folded her arms after, hips shifting weight. "Sir?"

"Yes. Good. Excellent work today." He hesitated. "Jill."

"Yeah--yes, captain?"

"I wanted to let you know. And it usually isn't my business. However, it is against company policy to have interpersonal relationships in the workplace."

It was worth it. Worth it to see Jill's face drain of color. Then she turned red. Her eyes glittered. She uncrossed her arms. "What are you talking about?"

"Please don't make this harder than it has to be." Wesker manufactured a smile of remorse for having to deliver this sad reminder. "I'm not the only one who notices."

"Okay." Jill stared at him. A mixture of silent fury and shame burned in her gaze. That seemed to be enough for him. He excused himself and walked away, handing over the suspects to the local authorities to be handled and questioned.

It was enough. If he could disrupt their little liaison just a little, that would be enough for now.

 

* * *

 

Spring approached. It warmed up considerably, until afternoons were boiling and evenings were nothing but thunder. April showers borught May flowers and all of that. She went to the shops at Raccoon Mall to find a new bikini in preparation for summer, and she saw herself in the mirror at home as a pale, too-muscular girl with nothing to show for her body except a few freckles here and there on her shoulders. She was determined to change this.

The greatest limit of her movements was Chris. He was always so overprotective. An insulting double standard that choked that he should restrict her activities to just the street and the plaza down the road, when he could go out wherever he pleased to visit Jill.

Her birthday inched ever closer. Her meetings with Albert had gotten less frequent now with Chris looming over her shoulder. She started blaming those idiotic rumors. That she was a--

A whore? She curled her hands into fists, watching Wesker as he nibbled on a french fry coated in mustard. She would never get over that weird quirk of his. She never got over anything Albert ever did.

"Chris says... I can have a pool party at the neighbors." She spoke softly. "They're going to South Carolina for a week and they're letting us swim as long as we keep it clean while they're gone. It's a heated pool."

"For your birthday?" Wesker boredly smeared a gob of mustard on another fry - too much ruins the experience.

"No, just for some summertime thing. It'll be too cold in April. I'll have a separate cake thing at home with just me an' Chris."

"I see."

"Are you okay?" Claire frowned. She reached across to catch his hand before he had taken another fry. "You're so quiet. What's up?"

"I'm-" He hummed, then finally looked at her. "Work. Nothing more."

Claire squeezed gently on his hand. "You're here with me now, so... don't worry so much about work stuff." She felt the larger hand in hers relax a moment, before he turned to take hers. "You should come swimming." It blurted out before she could help herself, but stammered on. "Relax in the sun and enjoy the summer, you know? Stop thinking about work so much."

Wesker stared at her, lips pursed before he let out a gentle smile. It was so kind it hurt.

"Promise you'll be there. I'd love to have you around for my birthday." Claire held herself together only for awhile longer, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. If he wasn't there, she would have no one but the company of her brother and his girlfriend, who was more and more treating her like she was some kind of little sister too. It grossed her out and pissed her off, as if she was trying to butt in on her family. Chris and Claire didn't need anyone else - they got on just as well with each other.

"I promise," he said, slowly and with a pleasing rumble to his tone. If they weren't sitting in public he would have kissed the top of her hand to seal the deal. As it was, the way he looked at her had Claire's face reddening.

That settled it then. She was going to ensure her birthday was the best she ever had.

 

* * *

 

More and more the sun stayed up longer. Insects buzzed in the shrubbery and trees budding in between the houses on the street as she walked home. She put up her hair, sweating and puffing as she headed up to her house after schools, hastily doing her homework in order to go outside and pass out tanning under the sun. The spring rays were weak, but she did feel quite re-energized from soaking up Vitamin D. More often than not she was waking up to the sound of Chris's jeep pulling up the driveway out front and hastily hurrying inside to start dinner.

Her birthday with Chris was awesome; they rented a bunch of horror movies and ate a ton of Carvel ice cream cake and pizza, drinking so much soda all they did all night was burp at each other and laugh like idiots.

She got a card from Tom. Unexpectedly found it in her locker the day after and saw he had written her name neatly, wishing her happy birthday; it was a collage of cute photos of kittens. She shoved it deep down into her bookbag, swallowed her misplaced guilt and determined to throw it away by the end of the last class, but she found herself tucking it into her bureau drawer at home with some pictures of mom and dad.

The days lengthened until an unrelenting humidity plagued the city. The date that her neighbors were leaving for their week-long vacation was coming closer, and Claire stared at herself in the bikini for awhile, hissing a little. She wasn't tanning at all. She was just... slightly less white. She sighed, failing to reconcile the scrawny white redhead teenager with the bronze goddess she imagined she would be by the time Wesker would see her.

Wesker was going to see her. She folded her arms under her breasts, which she deemed acceptable. As far as how she felt, she felt... inadequate. She put her hair up, put it back down again. She took showers and scrubbed until she was glowing all over, shaved her legs and under her arms, determined to look at least presentable. She wrote out invitations to people, convincing Chris to get involved if only to make him less suspicious. She told him it could be a STARS party. She even bought some cut out starts to hang up around the trees.

Claire felt sneaky and giddy, calling all these people she hardly knew to invite, knowing maybe only a handful would show up. But it would be nice - they'd order out, have some wings, beer, pizza. She was happy. Wesker would be there.

Now she wanted to see Wesker happy.

 

* * *

 

There were cars all parked along the street; the neighbor's parking space didn't accommodate more than two vehicles. So to respect their space, they parked across the street instead, where there wasn't any housing. It was unforgivably hot. The sweet scent of damp forest was rich here; sweat poured down the middle of his back, the track of his spine itching.

He was boiling and miserable; Albert disliked this heat. Someday, perhaps, he would find it agreeable. On a day like today he would have lain naked in the middle of his bed, on top of the sheets, with the central air blasting cool air through the entirety of the house, an oscilating fan ghosting the air against his bare skin.

Not today. Record high temperatures. Increased humidity. Actual temp is 90. Feels like Hell.

The pine needles crunched beneath his footsteps as he made his way around the back, opening the gate to review the above-ground pool; the home owners had built a back porch view over the pool. There were stairs on the west side to climb up and jump in from the deck. Chris, Barry and a number of people he didn't even recognize were there. He didn't immediately see Claire, because she was sitting down on a deck chair behind people, holding a soda against her forehead.

She turned, seeing him immediately. She stood up carefully, her demeanor that of a clumsy child; she wore a big, long T-shirt that sagged around her body and fell just shy of mid-thigh, her bare feet padding across the hot deck gingerly to greet him.

She handed him her soda, and signed. _It's so hot out._

"It is."

_You look like you need to cool off._

A wild splash from the pool almost caught Wesker by surprise. There were a couple of boys wrestling in the water. The smell of hotdogs permeated the air, sickening, sour. The deck table was littered with crinkly colorful mountains of chip bags, populated by small communities of dip.

The humidity was dead in the air, not even a breeze.

_Come on. Get in. You look like you're gonna die._ She took his hand. Chris was the one manning the hotdogs, brow furrowed, bravely facing the heat and smoke of a good ol' charcoal grill. Burgers sizzled on the side. She could smell it already; some of them were already going to burn.

"Claire--"

She pulled on him, then let go immediately when she saw Chris turn to them.

"Oh, hey, captain!" He waved, then cussed, turning back. One of the burgers had inevitably caught on fire.

"Chris." His tight-lipped greeting was only tempered by Claire's expression. She turned, walking to the edge of the deck and lifting the hem of the overlarge T-shirt. Wesker held onto the soda numbly, the aluminum slippery in his fingers.

She looked over to make sure he was watching before she pulled off the shirt and bunched it up in her hands a bit. An imperceptible smile was given. Nobody whistled or cared. She pulled her hair up into a bun and tightened it as best as she could with a hairband. Her eyes flickered to him before she turned to descend the pool ladder, wading in. It was a five foot pool but still a wonderful swim. She bobbed along, adjusting the thin aqua-colored straps of her bikini top; he watched every movement, the way she seemed to actually enjoy herself in the moment, even when the splashing threatened to get her a little too cold.

He sipped the can, forcing his gaze away from her - feeling the pull of her nubile form taking on the aspects of an adult all too quickly. He remembered the card he had bought for her, and it was waiting in his car's glove box; black with red ribbon around it.

It was hardly a birthday card at all, and more like a declaration of her power over him. He agonized in the drug store, looking at every possible colorful ridiculous and obnoxious celebration with canned birthday phrases recycled a hundred thousand times before.

No, he found a blank For Her card, and wrote extensively to her in his own hand.

'I wish you the best and happiest of birthdays, Claire. All my adoration, A.W.' He was not a poet. He wanted to be concise, without being cold. Affectionate without being sappy. His heart twisted, anxious to see her reaction.

He sat at the edge of the pool in a pair of off-white bermuda shorts and tugged off his flip flops, dipping his feet into the pool. His sunglasses remained perched on his nose, his gaze protected. Claire turned toward him, eyes shining. She lifted herself out of the pool by the ladder and sank down next to him, dripping with water, and flicked droplets from her hand at him.

He flinched, though not without a smirk. "Don't make me push you back in."

_I'll splash you._ Claire stuck out her tongue for a flashing second. She giggled; laughter wasn't forbidden. Not today. Today was her real birthday. The Wesker birthday.

She eased back into the pool and jerked her hands through the water, as if to make good on her threat. She bobbed on her toes; her breasts swelled, bouyant in the cups of her bikini. She kept tucking them back in, glaring at him.

His lips tightened into a thin line, unimpressed. "Claire."

Today was her birthday, and she could do whatever the hell she wanted.

"Don't you d--"

Claire made a huge, broad motion with both arms through the water, aiming to soak his legs. She misjudged, and ended up soaking him rather good. He jarred - flinching and then frozen. Someone guffawed, then shut up real quick with an 'oh shit'.

Wesker looked livid for a moment. Then he put down the soda and took off his dripping sunglasses, folding them up and laying them aside with extra care.

Claire squeaked, and spoke up in a mousy squeak, though she wasn't sure anyone else heard: "I'm sorry." Her blood ran cold; her throat clamped and she backed away.

He pulled his shirt off, which stuck to him because now, it was wet. Soaked. It landed with a splat on his opposite side before he pushed himself into the water with a grunt and came after her.

Claire squealed, running-slash-swimming around the circle of the pool. Chris looked over, arching a brow, but nothing seemed out of place. She was playing in the pool and having fun, and that was all that mattered. She kept splashing him, until he caught up with her and caught her wrists, twisted her to face forward. She kicked and wriggled. His sculpted chest felt strange and slippery against her naked shoulders.

"Bad girl," he muttered, before he hoisted her up and threw her a bit. She yelped before going in, and came back up with half her bun falling out and wiping chlorinated water out of her eyes. She was still laughing. The water felt nice and in the end he couldn't be terribly disappointed in her childish behavior because she looked ravishing in her little get-up and the attempt to be seductive was noted. Even if she did ruin his hair.

\-----  
Many people went home a little earlier than others. At one point, Wesker was sitting in the shade and looking tired. Claire was sitting close-but-not-too-close, wrapped in a towel, yawning in the fading sun.

"Claire, you wanna help me clean up all this? Don't wanna leave a mess behind for the owners."

She nodded, standing up, holding the towel to her chest and reaching to start gathering up paper plates and cans. She started pushing the deck chairs back. She heard a sigh from Wesker as he stood up. "I suppose I should head home. It was quite a pleasant afternoon, Redfields."

"Sure." Chris nodded without looking over his shoulder at him, back tense. Clearly something about Wesker still pissed him off; perhaps Jill had passed along his little warning about interpersonal relationships on the force. It rankled, it burned like heartburn.

Wesker smiled then - it was worth all the social obligation to be here, as well as the opportunity to spend time with Claire. He walked past her, his hand sneaking out to brush her back between her bare shoulderblades. Her spine straightened, her breath quickening briefly.

"I'll see you later," he said, to either Claire or Chris. Except he looked at HER, briefly but intentionally. Then he walked around the front of the house.

Flustered, Claire kept cleaning, shoving things in trash bags and wrapping up the leftovers.

"Jill didn't come," Chris said. He lifted one end of the cooler which contained the soup of melted ice and cans and bottled waters bumping around inside.

Claire blinked over at him. She gestured she was sorry, frowning.

"I'll call her later." He nodded to himself, as if deciding then and there.

Claire carried a bag down to the garbage bin.

"Claire! Don't put it in their garbage, go to our house and put it in ours."

She waved a hand over her shoulder, hiked up the bag, and marched across the property line with the towel slipping a bit, but determined to reach her destination without dropping anything. She went around the side of their house, opened the garbage bin and dropped in the big black plastic bag. Before she closed it she felt the air stir against her back before she felt his arms around.

His hand clamped over her mouth. "Shh. It's just me."

She aimed her elbow into his stomach. "Don't do that!"

"Come to my house tonight. I have something for you." He didn't even pretend to be apologetic. She supposed she deserved it for being capricious earlier.

"I can't."

"Try," he said. "I'll be waiting." He stepped away from her quickly, looking both ways before heading across the street to his car.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW stuff ahead.

Claire hardly had time to breathe before he was gone. Her hands were shaking for some reason. He wanted... her... to come over?

She walked back to the neighbor's, wincing as she stepped on a particularly sharp pine needle with her tender bare feet. She headed up to Chris, clearing her throat and tilting her head. She told him she was going home to change, and if there was anything he wanted her to carry back. He handed her the uncooked leftover hot dogs and she almost raced home to change and shower.

She couldn't brush the tangles out of her hair fast enough, throwing on a tank top and her favorite shorts, shivering a bit as she did so. Her eyes scoured her face for some imperfection; she saw a hundred... but she wanted to see him. She had spent the entire day craving for his touch, to be alone with him in that pool, to be the only person in the world next to him.

Giddy and terrified. Perhaps a little nauseated too. She brushed her teeth, rinsed with mouthwash, checked to make sure there was nothing in between her pearly whites. Nothing there. She heard Chris come in a bit later and turned on her radio, which she often did when she didn't want to be bothered.

She took a deep breath, looking out her window to see if Chris was still outside. She couldn't see the neighbor's backyard over their privacy fence (obviously), so she peered don the stairs, her ears straining for any sound of the creaking floor. Nothing. So she darted in her sneakers down the porch, running in the humidity up the road in a mad bid to make it to Albert Wesker's house, half-laughing to herself in hysterical bliss.

_This is so fucking stupid. The dumbest, stupidest fucked up thing, Claire._

_I want it so much._

She ran up to his car, passed it, then ran to the front door, panting as she knocked. She was out of breath, her lungs pulling for air out of the humidity. She flinched and moved out of sight when a car drove by on the street, the engine rattling like pebbles in a tin can, raucous and piercing. She peeled herself out of the shadow again, reached her hand up to knock once more when the door opened. He wore some kind of robe, something cinched around his waist, barefoot on the carpet.

"Good evening, Claire."

She swallowed heavily, licked the salty moisture from her upper lip before she stepped over the threshold in one long leap, all but crashed into his chest. She felt a keening deep inside her throat, pushed from her chest, a whining sob that was part desperation and part relief.

Her lips sought his immediately, her arms squeezing underneath his biceps and squeezing him close. The taste of his lips was as familiar and welcome as a glass of ice cold spring water, as if all day she needed to just drink him to quench a deeper, primal thirst.

Her heel painfully bumped the door closed while his large hands closed at her lower back, pressing them close, then reached to tear the elastic band from her red hair and let it fall. He growled against her, teeth sinking into the plump softness of her lower lip.

Her hands crawled to his chest, pulling at the hems of the robe. His hands caught up to hers, squeezing until her knuckles ground together.

"Claire."

"I want you. I want you so bad." She bubbled over, heedless reaching and reaching to get his lips again and kiss, and falling short, she connected with his chin, his jaw, his neck.

He smelled so fucking good.

"Wait." He tried to pull away; it was so hard. She clung to him, lemur-like, hooking her calf around him. "Claire, please."

"I'm so sick of waiting!" She half-cried in her frustration, looking at him, eyes beading with tears. "I'm old enough now! I didn't even see you on my real birthday, I couldn't see you all week. I planned this whole thing for me, for us, I mean, and you're still telling me to wait! Am I fucking ugly? What am I doing wrong!?"

He didn't react. He just stared at her, his breath gusting through his nose like a bellows, then exhaling slowly.

Claire withered, but that defiance never moved from her set jaw.

He sank his hand into her hair, found a good grip and pulled softly, her head angled far back. He released her hands which dropped to her sides.

"You're out of control, Claire." He pieced the words together carefully, the better to make her understand. "You're a mess. Look at you. Are you going to behave like a spoiled little girl?"

His thumb brushed at her eyes with tenderness.

"Or will you be a good girl?"

"N...No. I mean. I'll be good. I'll be good."

"Calm down. Deep breaths." He waited.

Humiliated, she took a deep breath. Let out a shaky sigh.

"There we go. One more."

She glared at him, but took a breath again.

"Good girl." He released her hair and adjusted his robe, tightening the belt again.

"I thought you said you had something for me." Claire's heart galloped, but she demanded answers.

"I do."

For the first time, Claire looked around and actually noticed the living space around them. Her sole focus had been on Wesker; now she saw that he lived in relative modest comfort, with a few modern conveniences - even one of those coffee-maker and toaster combinations sitting neatly on the kitchen shelf. She saw him reach and pluck an envelope off the counter and approach her, a half-grin hidden behind half a hand as he wiped his mouth.

She swayed a bit, still dizzy, and stared at the envelope until she took it. Opened it. "Oh." She read the carefully written sentences a couple times... then bit her lip hard. A thick swallow clicked in her throat. She sniffed. "Oh... I'm sorry. I totally... I misunderstood."

It was a card. He hadn't given her one yet. All he wanted to give her was a card. But then - so why did he answer the door in a robe? Why he did he kiss her back? Why did he tell her to wait? Why, why?

Her ears were burning with shame and emotion. The written words hummed in her soul, filled the empty broken spaces in between.

"I believe the correct response is 'thank you'. I wasn't expecting an apology." His tone was lightly teasing.

"Thank you." Claire pressed the card and envelope to her chest, above her breasts, sticky with humidity. It was freezing in here. She started shaking a bit. "I'm sorry."

"Stop. Apologizing." He tilted her chin up, and closed the space, studying her tearful face. "You look exhausted. And very red."

"I burn very easily." Her teeth began to chatter. Her eyes felt swollen and itchy and hot. She leaned into his chest again, slowly to ensure it was all right, that he wouldn't shun her again. This time, he folded his arms around her. Kissed her forehead, her temple. His lips felt cool against her sun-struck skin. She shook like a lamb and sighed into him.

The peaceful moment stretched out, giving her moment to catch her breath, to realize how tired she was. How relieved she was to be in his house, to have this time with him. She wasn't sure she cared if Chris looked into her room and discovered her gone. If he was scared or worried. She wanted this.

"I meant what I wrote, Claire. I adore you."

His voice had a quality she never heard, or never would hear, outside of these walls again. He sighed into her hair, and stirred a fresh wake of shudders through her sensitive body. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Dunno. H-Hold me." She raised one shoulder, dropped it. "Whatever you want. I'm yours now." The words tasted unfamiliar, but right. _His_. "Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?"

"Can... can you be mine?" She blinked quickly, burrowing into the naked hollow of his throat, kissing gently. Tiny little pecks, while her birthday card crinkled in her hands. "Are you mine?"

\-----

"Am I yours?" He challenged, his hands tightening softly at the back of her shirt, allowing her to show her affection - now that he had given her the card, his original purpose done, he had no real plan in mind. Take her to bed? Fuck her totally insensate, rob her of that sweet innocence that Chris wanted to protect and nurture. Drench himself in the knowledge that no matter what Chris held dear, he would destroy it, despoil it - piece by piece.

It was almost frightening how much he hated that man.

"Come with me." His lips pursed, stopping to take her hand, walking with her through the house, a rather sprawling piece of property with two stories. He went up the stairs with her, into a narrow hallway. She nearly tripped on the landing but he tugged her along.

She froze a second in the threshold, knowing this was a point from which she could not turn away. Once she was in here, once he shut the door, she felt intuitively she could not say no. What if she said no and he didn't stop? What if he got angry?

What if... What if he really was some kind of psychopath killer and she just was too stupid to see it?

Didn't she think this way before? She had nothing to lose.

Claire thought about Chris. How he struggled. How he always fought to make it work, to keep them together as a family. Chris didn't deserve Claire.

She took his hand, stepping in. The ache between her legs was too insistent. Too painful.

_He_  made her like this.

 

* * *

 

Her kisses angered him. She was so easy. So sweet. So brave, stubborn, beautiful, fierce and driven and stupid. He pulled her shirt up from her back, found the little snaps of her bra and worked at them, felt her back grow rigid with shock.

"What were you going to do to me if I didn't stop you?" he whispered heatedly.

He took his time, worrying at the fabric - her skin was sticky with sweat, though her hair was damp and fragrant from a shower. He pulled the first eye-hook loose.

Claire whined, teeth chattering louder, her bare skin scorching hot but her body frigid from the conditioned air.

"How will little eighteen year old Claire make me hers?"

She shoved the card into her shorts pocket. Her fingers found the edges of his robe, her palms slowly pressing to his chest. All the passionate ferocity was coming back, trickling in a little by little, feeling small against his chest but brave. Bold again.

She reached her hands to his face, cupping his jaw and feeling the planes of his skin against her palms and fingertips. She wanted to touch all the surfaces forbidden to her. There was nowhere she wouldn't explore. His eyes bore into her. Holding her, his fingertips digging into her back and drawing her in close. He seemed to be patient and curious, smirking when she reached to tug again at his bath robe.

"Put your hand on me," he said. Not a suggestion. A directive. A command.

"What?" Claire looked confounded; her face was still red.

"Like you did that man-child. Put your hand on me and stroke, girl."

He took her delicate wrist, his lips running along her tender palm, before he guided her hand down his abdomen - his belly hairless, smooth and cool. Before she could be insulted, she was already caught up in the touch of his bare skin. He was loosening his robe for her, unknotting the belt. The lapels of the soft robe drifted wider, revealing the rigid and well-maintained physique he hid so well beneath his uniform.

His breath quickened, eyes widening as she eased her fingertips down to his hips. They cut in toward his pelvis, sharp angles and flat slopes. He had hair there. It was buzzed short, and it was soft to touch. Everything else about him looked hard and impenetrable. She lifted her eyes to look at him, as if ashamed to look.

"Don't stop now."

He brushed his fingers through her hair, then pressed his hips into her hand until her palm bumped along the length of him. Then she gripped him. Her fingers closed. Firm.

A crooning, longing sound, a mixture of relief and pain. A hiss, 'God, yes, Claire'.

She kept touching it - squeezing and stroking, feeling the slickness of the flesh move over a solid length. And he was so, so warm. Her mouth watered, and her mouth pressed to his neck. She suckled gently, making small, guarded mewls against him.

His hand tightened at the back of her neck. Her hand moved. He tightened, his whole body pulled toward her with a climbing urgency.

As hard as he was when she started, he grew stiffer. She remembered Tom; how he got so stiff before he came.

Before he did, however, he grabbed her hand, pulling it away. His chest heaved, breathing hard. His neat, trimmed nails dug into her skin.

"Not yet."

His mouth crushed tightly to hers, his hand pulling her off balance until she leaned into him, craving the forbidden familiar taste. The fierce grip he had on her commuted them to the bed. His hands roughly pulling her skirt, her panties, all in one short, breathless movement.

Her back prickled against the icy prickle of the satin bed covers. The air conditioning was cranked so high she almost felt numb, eyes locked on his body, his abdomen as he crawled over her.

"I've been waiting." He clasped her face in his hands, breathing shakily. "I promised I'd take my time. Savor every moment."

"A-Al--"

His thumb probed deep into her mouth, hooking into Claire's cheek. Another hand, large but decisive, followed the crease of her exposed labia. Up and down, the pad of a single digit stroked until her pelvis tipped upward with impatience. Her own body knew what that touch meant, having done the same to herself, rocking into her own hand against the mattress of her frilled punk-princess bedding, teasing that secret place until she could hardly stand herself.

"Please." The wheedling unfamiliar voice squeezed from her throat, tongue fumbling against his thumb.

"Please?" He circled her pubic mons, fluffing the curls of soft, rust-colored hair between her legs. "Finger you? Fuck you?"

"Mmhm. Mmhm!"

"Both? All at once?" His hungry mouth clamped over her breast, his teeth sharply biting in. He judged correctly; felt her torso jolt and her spine arch with her toes pointing. His reached deep into her, sparing no mercy with three fingers slowly pumping into her untried flesh. His thumb slipped over her clitoris in a slow rhythm, once and twice. It wasn't his fingers slick in her pussy that made her squeal with shame, it was the firm, slippery button of tissue under his thumb that he tortured, that gave her the most satisfaction.

His opposing hand clenched to her throat next, letting her mouth gape, his eyes rolling upward to watch her head thrash against his pillows, her flushed neck and shoulders making every freckle as vivid as stars.

Claire's walls clamped in spasms, her orgasm flooding the spaces between his fingers with heat. He moaned around the meat of her breast, the sound, scent, taste of her, making his manhood strain. She clamped her thighs together, writhing and pumping her hips throughout.

"Oh my god," she said, again and again, just that, "oh my god, oh my god." It seemed fitting.

 

* * *

 

Claire's bearings were hardly in place. She felt his weight shift, the bed creak softly. Her mouth felt cotton-y and raw from breathing so hard and between her thighs, she felt sore already. Sore, and it was just his hand then. His heat cascaded over her.

"You're crying, dear."

"I am? I am." She mopped her eyes with her arm and then she just kept her arm in place, her teeth chattering in a grimace. Real sexy, Claire.

Wesker tsked softly, gathering her hair and swiping it away from her face. He prized her arm away. "We've hardly even begun. Take a deep breath now." When she blinked, she could see his face - the familiar squareness of his jaw, the flushed quality of his cheeks, the bemused smirk. It pissed her off. She was almost just...ashamed.

"I'm... I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

"I... Uh... I'm loud. I'm sorry... I don't know where that came from."

"You have nothing to apologize for." He smiled, his hand affectionately cupped between her thighs. "I can never grow tired of your voice. Making you moan is actually quite enjoyable."

His fingertips stirred, which was distracting enough, until he kissed her cheeks. Claire hid away from him. The taste of him lingered. Salty, clean, soapy. "I'm... I'm disgusting."

"No." His voice was clear and firm. "If you mean you're a filthy and dirty little girl, then... yes. Most definitely. But you," he said, tipping her chin up, "you are not disgusting. This is all very highly natural and quite normal, and incredibly, _incredibly_ erotic."

"O...Okay." She swallowed a bit, petrified under that look. "Y-you can think what you want... but I've never let anyone touch me...ever. Not Tom, not... not any man. B-Boy. Just... didn't trust anyone... Blame my brother. He tells me all men are pigs and they're all only after one thing."

"An overly protective brother, trying to fill the shoes of two parents." Wesker smiled ruefully, before he shifted, removing his hand and beginning to lick, suckle, and clean each finger. Claire was almost mortified, if she hadn't been told that she was sexy.

"Curious?" Wesker caught her staring. He grinned wolfishly.

"No. Ew." Her nose wrinkled.

She had been so distraught, learning about her body, with her own emissions she often hurried, bow-legged, to the bathroom when she was done tending to her own needs to wipe away the proof aggressively, bunching wads of toilet paper to do the job thoroughly. She never thought she'd taste like anything except acrid. She knew it wasn't the same as urine, but still...

"Maybe some other time, then." He leaned over her, and left small, warm kisses down her neck and shoulder, as if blessing every little freckle.

"Are you?" she found herself whispering, feverishly shivering, as if the heat of her passion had gone out like a candle in a flame for now. Her hand reached to rest against the back of his neck, and fluffed upward through his hair.

"Am I?"

"After one thing."

His kisses faltered, and he sighed, his shoulders slack, before he looked up again. "You're going to ask this... after all our conversations? Talking with you? You think a man after a lovely, smart young woman like you would put in this much time and attention and affection just to.. for that? No, Claire."

He rolled onto his back, and scooped her up with him, so her buttocks rested against his hips, warm fabric against her thighs where his underwear kept him captured. He caressed her thighs.

"No, my dear. I am a very complicated man, but that, I am not." He rolled his hips suggestively, lifting her a bit. "Enough talking now.  Tell me what is it you want most."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think. I've had such a shitty week. I don't know what I'm doing any more. I went upstairs today and finally finished this and now I don't like it but I'm posting it anyway. Blargh. And the story isn't done yet! Oh no, not in the least bit.


End file.
